All That Matters Is Now
by Disco Shop Girl
Summary: A portal grabs Angel at the moment of his death, leaving him trapped more than two centuries the past. This existence was a punishment in his youth, but now? How can it be a punishment when Buffy is drawn back to stand by his side? B–A, F–W
1. Prologue

Prologue

"G'night Buffy!" Dawn's voice calls from the other side of their Roman flat, the last thing she hears before she slips into slumber.

She's with Angel in her dreams tonight. In a graveyard – it always starts in a graveyard. //_We're supposed to be hunting_// her conscience prompts, but that one teeny tiny part of herself is given a great big 'Shhhhhh!' by every other part. Because instead of hunting, they're kissing.

That really good kind of kissing – the kind where his lips never stay pressed against hers for too long, but are always coming back for more. The kind where she cups his stubble-brushed cheeks and breathes him in like life itself. Swoons under his big strong hands constantly grasping at her shoulders until he decides she's not close enough and pulls her into a deeper embrace. The kind that goes on for hours.

This is why grown up Buffy has only had a single human relationship – because of this. Long hungry kisses from a dead man that taught her how lively kisses can be.

God she loves kissing Angel. There isn't anything else but his soft lips and his practiced hands.

"I really…" she tries to think about why they decided to come out here anyway.

"I know," he replies, as if he too is struggling to get back on track.

If either of them had willpower it would work. Instead – she finds herself staring at his lips – they're all juicy and wet with her kisses. A soft breath slips from her lips and that's all he needs to be enticed. They get right back to where they were – worshipping each other with their mouths.

"You know, this isn't hunting in the classical sense," she enlightens him.

From the depth of his arms, with his eyes focused more on her shiny lipgloss than the words she's saying.

"You're right," he agrees.

And takes up right where they left off.

"Ok."

It was him that pulled away this time. //_Come back!//_ her body calls out mournfully, pretending it has no idea what duty is. The softness of his mouth still tingling at her lips.

"Ok," she agrees. Steals one more quick kiss. "Ok," she prompts herself.

For a handful of paces they walk side-by-side. The company in the night air was almost enough to satisfy her. Almost.

_//Focus//_ she tells herself. //_Gorches. Bad guys//_. A quick scan with her eyes doesn't reveal anything out of place in the abandoned park.

"You see anything?"

"No," his reply is almost instantaneous.

It makes her laugh on the inside. _//Mind elsewhere baby?//_ Well, his nightvision _was_ so much better. She'd be best off taking his word for it.

"Ok. Enough hunting."

//_Mmmm, Angel// _her insides melt as their eyes slowly slide closed. Those gentle hands press into her back and draw her in closer to him. And they kiss. They kiss and make out in the middle of the park under the stars and he makes her feel she's the most important thing in the world – perfection.

In her Roman apartment a soft breeze stirs the curtains at the open window, disturbing the otherwise still night. Like a lover's caress it drifts over her neck and bare shoulders, stirring a few strands of hair.

A small moan escapes from her lips as the feeling of a phantom Angel's fingers drifting over her sensitive neck awakens true passion like she hasn't felt in a long time. With the intensity of the kisses in her dream.

And as the night wears on – so does her dream. A vivid recount of a love lost. No, wait a minute, not lost, put on hold. Well, whatever it is, it feels goooood. It feels hot, and real, and when she wakes in the morning there's a quiet, self-satisfied smile on her face.

---

The next night when she goes to bed, she spends a long time staring out her window over the ancient city. Today was possibly the best day in her life. Or maybe not – but memories get fuzzier over time and today's is still fresh. They didn't do anything special – just went out, studied some of the architecture, had lunch in a cute street café. But it was fulfilment, they were living as she had dreamed it for them, showing Dawn how many amazing things filled the world. And her heart had been left feeling so full of love after her odd little trip down memory lane last night that the day had been – perfect.

The golden tint of a metropolis that glowed in the night sky made her smile, made her feel happy. It wasn't being sixteen and mindless of the freezing temperatures as the arms of the boy you loved held you – but it did hold an older understanding that her life would be the envy of so many.

That quiet reflection accompanied her, and that smile touched her lips even before she found unconsciousness.

Tonight it was a little later – she'd just started college. She'd slept with someone else _//Parker//_ her mind sneered, and been slapped with a harder case of longing than she'd just been trying to move past. Oh – and it was Thanksgiving. And just like all fantasies should be – the guy she loved, her forbidden heart's desire was suddenly breathing, and full of heartbeats that all wanted her. Best of all – he was totally, absolutely in desperate want, in need, in _desire_ – of _her_.

Her thighs shifted in her sleep – the warmth between them increasing. Her mind mightn't remember the truth of Angel's massive cock sliding into her that second, third and fourth time, but oh boy! Her body sure did. The feeling of his refrigerator at her back – classically moulded in typical Angel style and yet nothing more than a convenient surface for him to push her up against. It was solid and strong – held her while she jumped and wrapped her thighs around his hot, deliciously strong body. Took the weight of Angel grinding against her as their mouths madly met with a desperation drawn out from months of knowing longing.

When it's not his mouth, it's his ear she's tracing with her hot wet tongue. Or his neck, his sensitive neck. Or his jaw, his collarbone – his chest when she finally gets his sweater off. Whatever is close at hand and she can reach as she's laid out on the table like a feast for him. Of course, he's on top of her like a hungry animal and it really doesn't take long before they're bumping and grinding like they've been doing it all their lives.

"Angel," escapes her soft lips in a breathy moan.

Beneath her loose pyjama pants her lips are gently flowering for him, anticipating the push of that deliciously unfamiliar length between them. It never comes of course, but she unknowingly slicks in readiness.

He takes her on that table and it's everything sex should be – that is to say nothing she's ever had. Hot, hungry, and totally unrestrained yet filled with so much _mutual_ passion that it feels like the whole building will collapse with the force of it. Then they break the table as they try to start round two and find their way to the bed. That's even better. It's the sound of both their names in desperate gasps for air, a constantly rolling, sometimes giggling mound of bedclothes that eventually ends up in a crumpled heap on the floor. Its hands that are always sliding but never lose contact, teeth that nip but never mark – it's fun and love, two things she's never had in bed.

It's everything making love to Angel would be – or so she's dreamed for almost a decade.

Eventually the dream pitters out, they kind of drift off in one another's arms, flushed and comfy, promising that they'll have a tomorrow just like it to do it all again.

Buffy's eyes fly open, greeting the Roman sunrise with a gasp for breath. Her body is hot, so hot, though she's already kicked the sheet off.

"Angel," she gasps.

Without any shame she slides a hand straight down her naked belly, underneath the elastic of her waistband. She has a boyfriend – she doesn't need to do this. And yet the ecstasy of that beautiful dream lingered. So too did the ache.

Her hips arch into the air, eyes squeezing tightly shut as her fingers brush the shaved lips of her sex.

"Yesss."

The soft hiss passed her lips with no restraint as she dipped a finger inside herself. She was wet, so wet, and hurriedly reached into her bedside drawer as she rasped her fingers along the open slit. Slayer speed came in handy and she hurried to slip out of her pyjamas and yank off her underwear while blindly feeling for the cool length of her private guilt.

"Yess, baby," she encouraged her fantasy, feeling the creamy liquid her body exuded, all ready for him to come inside.

Sleepy eyes rolled back in her head with anticipation as she wrapped her hand around the flesh-coloured dildo and drew it out into the light. A quick flick of her wrist and she'd brought the thing to her mouth. If she were fully awake she'd hate herself – but still partially in a dream world she had no qualms about her wet pink tongue escaping her lips to longingly trace the entire length of the thing. After a brief dip into her mouth, a simple movement of her arm had the poor substitute for the husband she'd taken at seventeen poised at the entrance he had only taken once.

She teased it up and down, the shaded V between her thighs a playground, before she finally pressed it into herself. Pumped was more like it – the tool of an adult woman's lonely pleasure slipping into her and splitting her open like _he_ had in her erotic dream. Quiet tears slipped unchecked down her cheeks as she worked herself up into a frenzy, panted harshly like he was really with her, until finally she fell over the edge and didn't have his arms there to catch her.

Yet still, the smile that followed her around today would turn out to be even bigger than yesterday's.

---

"Buffy. Buffy? Buffy!" Dawn tried to grab her attention.

It was obvious her big sister's mind was somewhere else entirely. They were sitting out on their cute little balcony, with it's half-columns balustrade and it's flowering geraniums eating very sweet lemon gelato. The sun had long ago sunk under the horizon but the sky was still flushed with pretty colours and they were out to enjoy the lingering heat.

Well, Dawn was.

She suspected Buffy was on another planet entirely.

"Hmmm?" the blonde sister asked.

It wasn't entirely convincing, she looked like she was only barely paying attention as it was.

"I asked if we could go shopping on Saturday. Geez Buffy, where have you been all day?" Dawn asked, truly curious.

It was nice, to see that soft sparkle in Buffy's eye. That had been missing for a very long time after Mom died. She didn't like the Immortal at all but if he could cheer Buffy up like this, then maybe he wasn't all bad. Still, she'd been zoning in and out all day. A _little _attention for her only sister would be nice.

"Sorry."

Buffy shot her a smile that didn't have Dawn fooled for a second.

"Shopping, Saturday. Right. Yes, I'd love to," Buffy confirmed. "I'm going to bed," she announced before Dawn could get another word in.

"At nine o'clock? Don't you have to patrol?" came the disbelieving reply.

A kiss on her head and a cheery but distant "G'night," were her only answer. Then Buffy disappeared.

"Freak," Dawn muttered under her breath.

Although, Buffy in bed so early meant no one to complain about what they were going to watch on television tonight. Ooooh, maybe she could watch a movie. A _good _movie – without all Buffy's interference!

---

Tonight, he spoke.

"I love you," he whispered into her hair.

She nuzzled into that perfect place under his chin where she fit just right and grinned. He wriggled a bit to get a hand between them, and nothing seemed particularly odd to her when he put one of those big gorgeous hands she admired so much on her abdomen. Which, by the way, was a little distended.

"And I love our unborn baby," he quietly told her, just as he placed a tender kiss on the crown of her head.

"Angel?" she questioned him softly. "Do you ever worry something might happen to take this all away?"

"No," he immediately answered back, so confidant.

"How can you be sure?"

He sat in a chair and tugged her down into his lap. Warm fingers cupped her cheeks until their gazes finally met and his dark eyes showed just how lucky he thought he was.

"Because this is my reward."

She didn't believe him, after everything that had happened to them, she couldn't. The Powers were never that kind. Besides, life was his reward. Being able to breathe, and see the sunshine was his reward. Not this. This was just a bi-product.

"Having to put up with me fat and hormonal is a reward?" she challenged, wishing she could just be swallowed up by the earth as those words came out.

Why couldn't she stop herself saying things that would only hurt him? Hadn't he suffered enough? She sadly looked away until gentle digits on her chin forced her to meet his unrelenting gaze.

"Yes."

Big Angely fingers caressed her middle until tears of happiness slipped down her cheeks. Until she couldn't help but believe that one simple word.

"Yes. You are my reward. You fat with my children is my reward… Just like getting you this way was."

He leered at her with raised eyebrows with that last part, and she couldn't help laughing at his poor joke. He laughed too and the sound was magical – soothing right down to her very soul. When they finally calmed his face was pressed into her neck and soft, open-mouthed kisses were slowly finding their way down away from her ear and into her open neckline.

"You're such a beautiful woman, Buffy…"

Serenity engulfed the slayer as her fingers slid through his dark hair, eyes tipping to the ceiling and surrendering to hot wet lips dipping into her cleavage. Here was the man who would fulfil her. Who did fulfil her.

"Until the end of days, my love," he promised her silent thoughts.

Her weightier body was hoisted into his arms as he stood, no mean feat for the now human man who owned her heart and marked her body. She was carried to their marital bed and laid down with reverence. A hint of silver flashed in her peripheral vision when he brought her palm to his lips, kissed it naughtily with an explicit preview of what was to come. It only took a look to beg him to come to her and their mouths were locked in a heated dance of excited love, lowering their fertile bodies back onto the rough sheets.

After that dream Buffy woke with an odd feeling of optimism. She lay in bed for over an hour contemplating just how possible it might be to bring that about as their future – if she used all the magic in the world and had just enough good luck.

---

It was the fourth day that was the kicker. She'd been built up with memories and visions of the lover she'd never really had – Angel. Everything always came down to Angel. And this dream didn't promise the happy future with Angel. This one predicted his demise.

She saw him willing give up his son to a better future. She saw him losing his Los Angeles friends, quietly picked off one by one. She tossed uncomfortably in her bed as she watched a dock, watched Andrew strip all Angel's faith in their love, then Giles rip away any trust he had left in _her_. Then she saw him standing in a hidden dark alley, except for Spike he was with people she didn't know – nothing but a handful of emotionally exhausted remnants from his gang. They were staring down not only a dragon but the very armies of hell so large she never could have conceived.

And a heartbroken, terrified "NO!" brought her screaming awake as she watched the love of her life disappear into dust that was swept away in the wind, dying an anonymous, forgotten death. Without her.

She dragged in deep breaths, turning over and burying her head in her pillow as the sobbing began. Soon she felt Dawn come pounding into her room, the dip in the mattress beside her and the soothing rubbing of a hand against her back.

"Buffy what is it?" the muffled inquiry barely reached her ears over the pounding of her own heart.

"Angel," she managed to whisper forlornly.

She doubted Dawn heard her, and truthfully she was too traumatised to say anything else, to think of anything but him.

A moment later the touch on her shoulder left briefly, before Dawn was tugging her from her pillow.

In one hand was the cordless phone, in the other her little address book with all its sacred telephone numbers, opened to the first page of 'A's where a never-tried number for the CEO of the world's top evil law firm was written encased in a flowery dark heart.

"Call him," her baby sister logically prompted. "If it's that bad, talk to him."

Buffy nodded, yes, call him. Make sure it was just a nightmare, not a premonition. Her fingers fumbled with the buttons so many times that eventually Dawn took it from her hands and dialled for her. Then she held it out and Buffy took it to her ear, willing her heart to stop pounding just for a moment so she could hear the sound of it ringing. And ringing. And ringing. Until eventually it gave up. But she didn't. She redialled. Nothing. And again. And again.

"It's night. They're probably closed up until tomorrow. He's fine, don't worry. Come on, we'll call Giles just to be sure."

Dawn pries the phone from Buffy's unmoving fingers and quickly dials England, wandering out of the room and anxiously talking under her breath while her older sister stares lifelessly at the bed spread.

"He's looking into it, Giles will find out what's going on. Why don't we go out shopping like we planned, and take your mind off it for a little while," the young voice beside her coaxed.

Buffy let herself be dressed and led out into the bright clear morning. Everything out in the world seems so normal, so perfect. Like she didn't just dream of her beloved's horrid death. Dawn manages to get a few words of conversation out of her. They go shopping like she promised. They're on their way to lunch, standing on a bridge and looking down into the river when it happens.

Dawn glances at her sister, then down into the water. A small puff of air lifts the hairs from her shoulder, and when she looks back up again – Buffy is gone. Vanished. Her head whips around, trying to see if Buffy is chasing after a monster or something but her sister is nowhere. All the bags of clothes and shoes are clattering to her feet, as if Buffy's body has suddenly been eradicated from time itself.

---

Angel could feel the intensity of the heat on his back just as he thrust up with everything he had. He felt it – the sword breaching up through the dragon's neck and with the last bit of control he could scrounge, he pulled to the side, partially severing its head from its body.

For him it was too late – he knew that. There was clarity though, beautiful and crystal clear, and he knew in that brief moment that he was happy, he'd left no loose ends. He'd sent Connor away to be safe, and he'd lived long enough to know that it was through your children that true immortality was achieved. Two days ago he'd somehow found time to make sure that the letter he'd written for Buffy was sent express. It was far from LA now, long gone in case the city should happen to be obliterated. Everything he'd wished he'd said to her a year ago, five years ago, was on paper. Their magical lost day that he still thought of every morning he woke without a heartbeat, and his drive to achieve shanshu so that in the future she would be a normal girl with her normal boyfriend (well, not for long, more like husband if he had any say in it) for all days. And that even though they'd barely seen each other in a long time, his heart still felt her. He would love her – his only – for always. He wanted her to be happy, was only sorry he'd never get to see the cookies – he would have been happy tasting the cookie dough.

It had gotten a little incoherent at the end. Ultimately, she would know. That their love had existed to bring a few bright years of sparkling hope into his long existence was all that was important.

That was all – Connor and Buffy. And the heat of the dragon's last breath curling out, warning of the fire that was about to cascade down his back. He closed his eyes and pictured the woman he loved and his grown up son, ready for the end.

Had he kept his eyes open he would have seen something highly unusual. Though had he been Fred it would have been a little too familiar. A portal. Not big, as far as they go. Just about perfectly Angel-sized, Buffy would have said. The fire was just beginning to steam the tips of his dripping hair when he was sucked forward.

A startled yelp of "What?!" slipped from his lips as he was saved from the burning end that would have removed him from existence. Dark eyes flew open, confusion rife as the sensation of being ripped apart rattled through him, unfortunately a sensation he'd experienced a handful of times in the last few years. A finger of lightening licked out of the singularity's lining, striking his body with a powerful electrical surge.

When reality began to slowly focus again, he was disoriented, letting someone else guide him. He tried to get a bearing on things. Knees on _//Owww!// _something hard, familiar. Cobbles? Soft but not necessarily fine cloth against his skin. The touch of hair against his back – how long has it been since his hair fell below his shoulders? And that ecstatic feeling of fangs sinking into the flesh at his neck.

From nearby a voice interrupted with an indignant "Hey!"


	2. Chapter 1

She's standing on an ancient bridge, staring down into the luminescent green water of the Tiber River when it hits her with force. If she's tried to forget about Angel, or at any time deny the place he holds in her heart, or tried to replace him with another, then this is the evidence that she's truly failed.

It's a sudden tearing at her chest – a feeling of suffocating while her lungs are still taking in air. She leans forward slightly, her knuckles turning white as she grips the stone railing to try and keep her balance. The weight of stares from above – ancient statues passing judgment on her – is overpowering, like they hate her for denying the history between her and her first lover. The achy feelings have always lingered but this is more. This is death, centred at her slowing heart and gradually spreading out.

_//Oh god no!//_ is her first reaction as she sees it open up beside her. A portal. Just like the one she jumped into to save Dawn. The sweet little thing at her side that she loves so much doesn't look up from the water and for just a split second Buffy's glad that this is how it ends. Not with bloody violence and desperation, but a warm sunny day in a city teeming with life. And it will take her away from the crushing feeling in her chest, something she doesn't even want to contemplate as a mystical warning that her mate is meeting his end.

Before she can make a sound the portal sucks her in, swallows her up. This time isn't like last time – she's not being electrocuted, and she's not falling into blissful oblivion. She's actually quite aware. There are blue swirly colours surrounding her with this odd sensation of falling.

Not for long though, something opens up beneath her and instead of seeing energy surrounding her, she sees something more substantial, something real. The ground. It's coming up quick and fast.

She braces herself, ready to absorb the impact and oblivious to her body undergoing an odd sort of physical change – her clothes morph, her makeup disappears. Small things you don't see when the hard reality of cobblestones is rushing towards you.

She makes a split second decision and tucks up into a roll, as she hits. It's hard. And bumpy.

"Owwww," she hisses under her breath, already feeling the bruises.

A minute to regain her senses and she rolls up onto her feet.

"Well it's always of the good when nothing _feels_ broken," she declares to the night air, taking that as a positive sign.

Buffy surveys her surrounds, assessing everything like a seasoned warrior.

Wherever she's been dropped it's old. The buildings are all one or two stories, nothing higher. No concrete, all whitewash and dark wood. And they're not exactly built with perfect right angles in mind. There's no one out on the streets around her, and the fact that only one or two windows have a soft glow in them tells her its probably pretty late in the evening.

She's a bit bewildered, wondering who or what brought her here, when she gets that funny tingle. Vampire. On instinct she takes a step forward. It's not as quick and sprightly as her usual gait.

Her face screws up, a snort of disbelief breaking the silent night air.

"I swear I've done this one already."

The long, puffy skirt swings around her legs, the touch against her skin telling her she's wearing quite a few petticoats. An eyebrow rises as her gaze touches her own neckline.

"Where did they come from?"

A quick feel of her own body and she's got the answer – she's cinched so tightly into whatever it is she's wearing that every bit of breast she's got is falling out the top of it.

"Impressive."

The sound of low voices carries to her through the still night and she remembers what she was doing. Right, vampire nearby.

All thoughts of her appearance are discarded and she takes off. Within a few steps she's figured out just how to negotiate the explosion of fabric that encompasses her and bolts to the entry of an alleyway. The brush of something hard against her thigh tells her there must be a pocket in this garment because she can feel a stake concealed somewhere.

Her hand feels along the seam even as she comes across a couple in an alleyway. The guy is on his knees, about to have the life drained out of him.

"Hey!" she hopes to distract the vampire, without much luck.

The coiffed blonde vamp has brushed back the strands of his dark hair and is sinking her teeth into his neck.

"Good girls don't give it up on the first date," she cheekily reminds the fiend.

Within her dress, her hand finally touches wood. Buffy doesn't even have the time to spare a look for the guy. She pulls the stake from her pocket, takes a handful of perfectly arranged hair and yanks her away from his jugular. The vamp turns to see who it is that has ended its existence and Buffy puts on that proud 'Yep, you've been done by a slayer' face she can't help but sport.

Then she sees the features. All powdered up but horribly familiar.

"Darla?" she questions in disbelief.

In that split second she's gone and all that's left of her mate's sire is dust. Confusion covers her features like it haunts her brain and she looks towards the victim. Who has collapsed to the ground, blood leaking ominously fast from a vicious neck wound. His dark hair is not quite free enough to conceal his features.

It hits her like a tidal wave.

"Oh my god, Angel."

She sinks to her knees, her heart speeding up as she sees the love of her life's eyes closing. He doesn't respond to her voice, he looks limp, lifeless. Buffy cups his cheek, strokes the softness of his jaw and tries to hold herself together as she discovers he's warm. Like a man. Like a human. Then her sight strays back to that open gaping wound.

"Guess this is good for something after all," she tells him quietly, her hand reaching for one of the layers beneath her outer skirt and ripping at the simple cloth.

Slayer strength gives her a good length in a heartbeat and she's pressing it against him, trying to stem the bleeding.

"Angel? Can you hear me? Stay with me baby," she coaxes him.

He makes a soft murmur and she gives a sigh of relief when he gently rubs himself against her palm.

"You're ok, you're ok. I'm here," she soothes, not quite sure if its herself or him that needs it.

She leans down and brushes a light kiss over his lips. They're stretched taught with pain and Buffy tries not to focus on how his lips are slightly moist, humid and warm like they've never been before. In the cavern of intimacy her cascading hair creates around them, she knows that he's human. She can feel it in her bones even if she doesn't have an explanation for why.

He looks different, dishevelled and dressed oddly like she is but she doesn't have time to focus on that. He's hurt.

"Angel, we have to get you help," she whispers in his ear.

To be fair, this is probably the most disorienting situation she's been in for months, so she doesn't exactly have her wits about her. She lifts the makeshift bandage and finds the bleeding has slowed.

//_Ok, good.//_

Then she looks up. Hay and cobblestones – why does she get the feeling proper medical attention is not what her honey's going to be getting?

"Now if only I could figure out where we are."

It's a quiet mutter that's not quite under her breath, Angel must have heard her but he doesn't seem completely lucid.

"Take me home," he groans with just the hint of a lilt she hasn't heard before.

He tries to get up, which doesn't seem like the best idea. He sways and stumbles until she catches him and they're back on the ground, Angel leaning into her shoulder.

"Just breathe deeply," she murmurs, wincing herself when she hears him hiss in pain.

He stinks. She didn't realise it before but he absolutely reeks of alcohol. She can't actually remember ever seeing Angel drunk. Spike sure, but Angel? They sit in silence for a little while, her stroking back his hair and placing a kiss on his forehead every few minutes.

"Home," his soft voice longingly wafts into her hair and she can't refuse him.

He looks better, his eyes are bloodshot but at least they're now open. And she needs to get some food into him. //_Juice or cookies, something to combat the bloodloss._// She remembers being swept up into his frantic arms and run to the hospital after he suckled at her neck.

_//I'm thinking a transfusion isn't so likely at this point. And I don't have any cookies. I'm not done baking.//_

The big, serious grown up vampire slayer almost laughs out loud at the small joke in her head before she remembers the sickly being at her side.

"Ok," she concedes, "do you think you can stand?"

He nods, and heavily supporting him, they manage to stumble out of the alleyway. Its then that Buffy realises that Angel's pleas for home really can't be answered at this stage.

"That was a short journey. I guess we'd better find somewhere to stay the night, you need to lie down. An inn or something," she glances left and then right. "Except I don't know which buildings are inns. There aren't signs – why are there no signs? Oh, and we have no money. That's more of a problem. We could – stay in a barn!"

//What's that movie where they sneak in to sleep in the hay loft? Or was it a tv show? Wait, did they do more than sleep?// Lost in her thoughts of a roll in the hay she doesn't notice Angel is trudging with a single mindedness until they're four houses down from the alley entrance.

"Do you have a plan here or are we just dragging your dead – alive – weight around for fun?" Buffy teases.

He is so out of it he clearly doesn't realise she's talking, stumbling with unsteady steps. Buffy slips a more supportive hand around his waist, taking his free hand in hers and hoping like hell he doesn't pass out. Drunk and severe bloodloss can't be a good combination. They walk in silence without seeing another soul for about ten minutes until he sways off the road and towards a quite sweet looking cottage. No, it's more than a cottage – it is restrained to a single level but it sprawls on quite a large block of land. A house, then.

"Wait – I don't think," he has escaped her clasp and is banging on the door before she can stop him.

There's a candle burning in the window but she hopes the family aren't up. She's going to have a hell of a time explaining why they're intruding at this time of night, and Angel's not very talkative, possibly delirious meaning his ability to make a quick get away seems just about obsolete. Plus he's just reopened the wound. Damnit.

Thinking quickly she leans down, tearing another piece of her hem away and reaching up to his neck. She presses against it, catching him as he starts to fall. She hasn't quite thought up how she would explain this situation to a rational person when the door opens wide in front of them.

A middle aged looking man who doesn't look very happy stands in the doorway, his hair a similar style to Angel's. It's not hard to see the curious woman standing behind him.

"Liam," he growls at her honey. "You're drunk," he pronounces angrily. "Tonight, of all nights?"

It's the wife that seems to look beyond her woozy honey and notice her.

"Anne!" she exclaims.

//Anne?// Buffy tries not to let her confusion show. She's barely supporting Angel's serious weight, even though he's braced against the doorframe.

The couple both seem to spot the fact that a blood-soaked rag is pressed against a seriously vital piece of his body.

"Good god," the man hisses, immediately stepping forward to help her.

"Good grief what's happened?" the woman, she assumes the wife, looks worried.

Very worried. She scurries ahead of them as Buffy and the man each wrap an arm of Angel's around their shoulders. Following his lead they half-drag her once and always lover into a sitting room, the open fire low but warming.

The woman hurriedly clears away a lump of some kind – fabric and thread maybe? – to make room for Angel on the rather formal settee.

His big body gets draped along most of it, and the man lifts Angel's legs to dangle over one of the arms. He doesn't seem to care that muddy boots and pants are dirtying his beautiful furniture and immediately Buffy likes him.

Anyone who puts Angel first is already on her 'like' list.

"Liam what happened?" the woman repeats, kneeling on the floor beside him and taking one of his hands in hers.

Buffy scowls.

//HEY! Hands off!// Maybe they're not on the Buffy like list after all, threats to her affection rarely are.

She presses one of Angel's hands to her cheek, but with her free hands carefully removes Buffy's field dressing to look at the wound.

//My man, mine to nurse.// She's a little shocked at the raging possession that has sparked inside. After all she hasn't seen him in a year and the last time she did – her eyes slide shut in regret. //You hurt him. You told him to go away, to wait for you, and that you loved someone he'd spent so much of his existence loathing.// For that reason she doesn't move forward to bat the older woman away. And she feels a bitter kind of triumph when she notices streaks of grey escaping from beneath the lace cap the woman has on her head.

But then she hears something that makes her loathing suddenly pull up.

"Ma?" he groans in agony.

"I'm here Liam," she soothes.

She places a kiss on Angel's forehead which even now looks like it's beginning to sweat, then turns her head away.

"Patrick put some water on to boil. Hurry," she urges the man.

Without a hint of hesitation he darts off, presumably to follow her instructions. Not quickly enough that Buffy doesn't see the way he baulks when he catches sight of the vicious wound on Angel's neck.

Darla. She staked Darla. //Darla is dead. He killed her for me. And then she killed herself for Connor. I know that. So what the hell? Although just because you found Darla dressed in ye olde clothes biting Angel does not mean what you think it means. Don't even contemplate it.//

"There are some strips of clean cloth, top shelf of the cabinet, Anne." She indicates an armoire on the far side of the room. "Can you fetch them and my sewing kit, the finest needles," she requests.

Buffy blinks, completely mystified as to what's going on.

//He called her Ma. As in – Ma. Universal sound for Mom.//

Still, 'Ma' looks intent on helping, and someone needs to do something. If that wound keeps oozing blood she's going to lose a lot more than fashion sense tonight, and then it won't matter who cares for him. Buffy hurries over to the cupboard and finds a stack of neatly cut strips, just like she was told. By the side of one of the neatly arranged formal sitting chairs is something even she can recognise as a sewing basket. She takes the little package from on top, where a row of small needles are perfectly lined up, laced through a pretty piece of fabric trimmed with ribbon. She smiles at how cutely domestic it is.

Then she hears a not-so-stifled groan. Her attention snaps back to where the cloth has just been removed completely from Angel's neck.

//God it looks bad. But he's still alive, so that bodes well for him.//

"Hurts," Angel moans, sounding so forlorn, dejected.

"Shhh, you'll be just fine."

He gets a loving kiss on his forehead and then 'Ma's eyes turn and seek out Buffy's. They say more than words could. They're shiny with tears as she wills Buffy back to her side, immediately pressing a new bandage to his neck.

"It's probably just as well he's drunk," she whispers, choking up. "He'd be in a lot more pain otherwise."

Buffy has shoved a sword through his gut, so she knows a little something about having to look at Angel in pain. It doesn't get any easier, and on this she can sympathise with a stranger she barely knows.

"Have you ever had to sew a wound?" she quietly asks Buffy as she selects a piece of thread from her kit.

The slayer baulks. //Is what I think is about to happen, about to happen?// She mutely shakes her head, clasping her own hands together and hoping the trembling doesn't show. It's odd the life of a slayer – stab and behead things, fine. Sew living skin together and she feels like throwing up.

In muted silence she continues shaking her head.

"Alright," the woman doesn't seem completely in control. Then again she's got it more together than Buffy does.

"Alright. Well, watch me and pray your husband never gets into the kitchen," she kindly directs.

As if this is some kind of lesson Buffy needs to learn, a tool to add to her already impressive cabinet-full. Her tone inflects it like some kind of private joke, and a grim smile touches the woman lips.

The man, Patrick, hurries back in. He is carrying a basin of boiling water that he places at her feet. His skin is pale, like the sight in front of him truly weakens him.

"Wh't's goin' on?" a small voice timidly asks from the doorway.

Three heads turn to see a small girl – no more than nine or ten standing in the doorway. She clutches a doll and has her hair tied up in little pieces of rag. She seems to spot the feet draping over the edge of the sofa and starts moving forward into the room.

"What's happ'n'd t' Liam?" she asks and Buffy feels her heart break at how frightened the little girl looks.

If she looked in a mirror, is that how she would look?

Patrick darts forward after a barely shared glance with the woman.

"He got himself inta a wee bit a trouble on t' way h'me," his deep voice soothes, sweeping the child up into his arms.

"Will he be alright?" she wants to know, trying to peer over his shoulder as he carries her from the room.

"Do na worry, your Ma and Anne are here t' take care o' him. To bed wit ya Miss Kathy," his voice trails off down the hallway.

"Come kneel by me," the soft voice beside her coaxes.

She can't stop herself and Buffy follows orders, despite the fact that there is no way she wants to see what is about to happen to her lover's neck.

"Ya best hold his hand child. This is goin' ta hurt and I need him ta be still."

Buffy stands and moves around, settling herself behind Angel's head. She quietly leans over the arm of the chair, taking up one of his hands and then putting her lips to his ear.

"You'll be alright, you'll be alright," she whispered.

She slowly runs her index finger back and forth across his knuckles, trying to be soothing like his mother's voice is to him. She shoots a quick glance back at the other woman.

//Is that who this is? His mother?//

He suddenly lurches and the hand in her grasp snaps shut in an aching clench.

"Shhh," she hushes, hoping she is subtle as she presses down on one of his shoulders to hold him still.

"I'm here beloved. Be still, it will be over soon," she whispers into his ear, doing her best to sound as calming as his mother did.

Angel is barely coherent as he babbles noises of pain but he seems to respond and at least keep his movements to the occasional flinch. She risks a glance over to see a woman intent on her work, her fingers softly pushing Angel's jaw away as her needle occasionally glints in the light.

Buffy winces, turning her gaze back to scrunched closed eyelids and grinding teeth. She presses her lips to his forehead and holds them there. Hoping her presence means something.

Quicker than she thought possible there is a reassuring pat on her shoulder.

"'Tis done."

Buffy looks up to see her wiping the needle on a spare piece of linen, Angel's neck now abandoned. Risking a quick glance she is impressed, the stitches are small and neat, and he is no longer bleeding. It doesn't look too vicious either. Her eyes close, thankful and relieved.

"He needs to drink something. Or eat, he lost a lot of blood," she suddenly remembers, looking up to the home's mistress with worry.

"Tea," the older woman agreed, looking over Buffy's head.

She turns, surprised to see the older man – Patrick – has returned.

"And s'me biscuits. T'ere's some meat from dinner, in da pantry," she lists an inventory that he takes as the gentle request it is and goes to fetch the late meal.

"D'you know what happent?"

Buffy doesn't look up from where she is stroking her fingers over his handsome features. It hadn't really struck her what an ordeal it was until she'd seen a sewing needle passing through the tissue in his neck. Her stomach feels sick.

"He was attacked," she murmures.

It doesn't seem like a good idea to bring up how – she is barely together enough to put that sentence out.

"Where? By what?"

Buffy can only shake her head. Tears are burning hot behind her eyes as she looks down at Angel, human Angel, who is pale like he always was but flushed with pain. Breathing because he needs to. His pulse racing in the hand he was using to clutch hers. And she could have lost him. A few seconds more and Darla…would have sentenced him to hell once more.

"He went out wit' his friends," Patrick's disapproving voice came from behind her.

He reappears with a plate – some kind of sliced meat and some biscuits.

"Drinkin', on t' night b'fore his wedding," he spat out.

"Don't blame t' boy," that soft voice seems to soothe the beast in him.

"Ant where 're those ruffians wh'n he needs 'em? It looks like s'meone went at 'im wit' a knife," the man continues angrily. "He's lucky to have ye Miss Anne."

She was staring down at her lover's tortured brow. He looks as if he is somewhere between delusion and consciousness.

//What did he just say?// she quietly asks herself. //Night before his wedding?//

"Yes, well, everyt'ing will be right now," the motherly voice bustles. "See to t' tea, Patrick. He needs some fluids in 'im."

She waits until Angel's father //Angel has a father// disappears and then sits on the edge of the loveseat, down by Angel's side.

"He is lucky t' 'ave found ye Miss Anne," she murmurs.

Buffy looks up in time to catch the fond look in this woman's eyes.

"You truly are his guardian, how did ya happen upon him at t' right moment?"

She opens her mouth a few times and closes it, unable to think of any semblance of an appropriate response.

"Were ya coming from t' cottage? So late? Did ye get everyt'ing t' ye liking now?"

//What cottage? Just agree, apparently it's a plausible explanation.// She nods and it is left at that.

"Good," came a satisfied reply.

//Whatever that's about.//

"Ahhh, here we are. Now, sit up Liam," his mother coaxes.

"Tis almost midnight," Patrick cuts them off before Buffy could move out of the way.

He hands his wife a steaming bone china cup and then offers Buffy his arm. She doesn't want to seem like she doesn't understand but – //Huh?//

"Ye best hurry to bed child. Bad luck for t' groom t' see t' bride before t' wedding," he clarifies, helping Buffy to her feet.

All those words fall into her disbelieving head in a great big mess. //Groom. Bride. Wedding. Wedding?// She is even more disoriented than when she'd fallen onto the cobblestone street an hour ago. So much so that she doesn't quite find the cohesion to complain until she'd been escorted to the door of what was apparently her bedroom.

She is standing in the doorway, looking dumb she was sure, her eyes not quite focused.

//They said wedding right?//

A large, soft palm patted her hand and Buffy looked down to where her fingers were curled into the crook of Angel's father's elbow. Then she felt him placing a kiss on her forehead, like her own father used to do when she was little.

"I'm glad m' Liam won ye over, Miss Anne. Get a good night's sleep now, and when t'morrow's over, I shell be proud to call ya m' daught'r," he informs Buffy with such loving tenderness.

Then he leaves her alone and heads back towards the family room. Where his family wait.

//Daughter. Someone wants me to be there daughter… I miss Mom.//

Looking back down the hallway she contemplates returning but doesn't wish to face their questions and doesn't even know where to begin explaining what has happened in the past few hours. And the only person she could talk to hadn't exactly been 'Mister Here's-What-I'm-thinking'. At this point the best option seems to be to do what they want her to, to go to sleep. Angel seemed to be in good hands for now – when she was hurt she still longed for the comfort of her mother.

She walks into the room and closes the door behind her. The bed dominates the room, being on the large side and actually looking quite comfortable. All high and covered in delicately designed quilts.

//Didn't people in this kind of time have tiny beds? Why would you put your biggest bed in the guestroom? They should give a big bed like this to Angel. Oh, oh! Am I supposed to share this bed with Angel? Like on our wedding night? Wedding! I am so, so confused.//

She sits on the edge, having to jump a little to reach it. It is ridiculously high off the ground. There is probably a reason for that. But as she sits it doesn't spring like it gives the impression it should. Instead it sinks, hard, beneath her. Like the futon in Parker's room she'd once slept on. As she is trying to remember whether she'd actually slept well before the debacle that was waking up in that particular dorm room, she sees it.

A dressmaker's doll, standing proudly in front of the window. And displaying the most beautiful dress she has ever laid eyes on. Creeping forward she timidly reaches a hand out to touch it. She's been living in Italy for a year now, so she knows fine silk when she touches it. This must have cost a fortune – the floor-length gown is exquisite – it looks hand sewn to perfection, trimmed with incredibly delicate lace at the hem and bust lines. All in different shades of white and ivory, with tiny pearls for buttons – layer upon layer of fine detail. It's cut straight across the shoulders with full-length sleeves and she giggles, //it kinda looks like Sandy's "You'd better shape up' outfit from 'Grease'. //

Except this was 'Grease' in reverse – instead of looking like a 'Come and Get it' sex symbol, this dress seems to be the pinup for one thing and one thing only – virginal innocence.

"This is my wedding dress," she mumbles to herself in understanding.

She runs a palm over the flare of the full skirt, and feels her heart skip a beat.

//They have this for me. To wear when I marry Angel. Oh. Oh. Ok... Where are we and what the hell is going on?!?!//

A soft knock at the door sounds a second before it creaks open and the woman's genuinely happy face appears around the doorframe.

//I wonder what her name is.//

"I thought y' might need some help," she offers, slipping in and shutting the door behind her.

The guilty look on Buffy's face as she pulled away from fingering the dress seemed to make the woman smile.

"Don't worry, Mary was 'round aft'r dinner. She an' I made sure it was perfect for y'. The lace is all finished, see."

//Who is Mary? Some kind of seamstress maybe?//

Buffy nods like she understands, following the woman's finger to eye the dainty lace along the wrists. She wishes she had the skills to appreciate the time and effort it has taken, because from the way Angel's mother

//Angel's **mother**//

is reverently tracing it, it must have been quite a feat. Before another word is spoken, Buffy's eyes widen slightly as she feels a tugging at her back.

//What on earth are you doing?// she wonders, glancing back over her shoulder to see the laces on the back of her dress being loosened.

//Oh, she's helping me undress. Oh-kaaaay, I guess I need help with thatttttttt.//

"And I brought y' a cup o' tea as well. Liam may be injured, but y' were so stoic that we did no' even think about y'. It must have been such a fright – t' find 'im like that. Y're so brave."

There is a quiet admiration in her tone that Buffy cannot help but hear. She stands in silence, letting the woman untie the strings until finally there is a noticeable difference in the tension around her waist.

//Exactly how far is this supposed to go? Oooh – I get it, it's like Little Women. I've seen that. There were dresses under their dresses. I think. Ummm, act like it's fine. Other people help you out of your clothes all the time. Sure they're mostly of the undead boyfriend variety, and less of the boyfriend's mother feminine variety but you're a modern woman. You just go with the flow.//

Still, there is a silent sigh of relief when she lets the woman lift the over-dress off her stretched arms and discovers she is in fact wearing another white dress beneath. //Ok good, underwear is far more concealing than you're used to, but in this case that is of the good.//

"I know y'r mother would haf been proud of ya Anne. Liam, he's been … he's been so diff'nt since 'e met ye."

Buffy's eyes close as a brush takes to her hair. So soothing, so simply motherly and yet how much has she missed this kind of closeness with her own mother. Even when they'd been fighting about slaying and school and friends and Angel, they'd still had that basic connection of mother and daughter.

"I know t'at he brought ya 'ere, wit'out y'ur family 'nd friends, t' be wit' 'im, but he loves y' so much."

She pauses for a minute, as if she were feeling uncomfortable about something. However Buffy's attention is slowly waning as the brushstrokes sooth her world-weary soul and she is slowly lulled into relaxation.

"Y'r not m' daught'r yet Anne, but y've no one else an'…"

There was a long silence and the woman who had been able to take needle and thread to her own son's neck takes a deep breath.

"He'll touch y'. In places y' haven't b'n before. Wit' 'is 'ands, an' wit' ot'er – parts. He'll come inside y' an' it'll hurt."

Buffy's face flushes a bright scarlet red in mortification and she is glad Angel's mother is standing behind her. Because this talk had been embarrassing from her mom, and her health class teacher two years running. And neither of those times had made her feel as utterly awkward as she does right now.

//Please let this moment be over really **really **soon.//

"But y' haf t' rememb'r t'at 'e loves y' so much. And he dunna mean to hurt y'. When he's helpin' y' ou' a y'ur dress jus'…jus' tell 'im to go slow."

Hazel eyes squeezed shut, praying it was over. It is very sweet of her to warn that losing her virginity is going to hurt but - //Ick! So totally inappropriate! Angel is her son! // If that talk were all she had to go on, she would now be terrified of sex. Then she thinks of the man who had introduced it to her in the first place. And her chest quietly swells in gratitude.

//I did know that he loved me – he kept whispering it in my ear like it was something I **had** to know. And he did go slow, he took so much time to make sure I was ready, he kissed me and touched me until all I wanted was to have him inside me. He was sweet and tender and I've been with other men since him and none were the same. None were as good.//

"Thank you," she murmurs, looking down at her hands.

//For producing such an amazing human being// she quietly adds. //Maybe if I'd been born in this time, Angel would have been my first, and he would have been my only. Then I wouldn't have spent the next seven years looking for an adult relationship to fulfil me as much as that brief teenage one did.//

"Drink y'r tea and haf a goo' night's rest. T'morrow is a big day f'r y'."

The brush is set on a small dresser and footsteps receded until the door softly clicks behind her. The half-dressed vampire slayer turns to make sure she is alone then catches her reflection in the mirror. Her cheeks are a flaming red.

"And here I thought Mom catching Riley and I was the most embarrassing moment of my life," she playfully notes to herself.


	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

"Liam. Liam," a comforting voice washes over him.

Angel groans, wishing the hand shaking his shoulder would go away. He was tired //leave me sleep// he wanted to snap at them.

"Time t' get up."

The blinds are yanked open and sunlight streams into the room. That wakes him up. Angel bolted out of bed, rolling to the side to cower behind its tall frame away from the deadly rays.

A quiet laugh sounds, achingly familiar and yet not from near the windows.

"Wh't 're y' doin', y' daft boy."

//Mother// his heart pitter-patters in a way it hasn't for a very long time. //Wait//. Angel lifts his hand and presses it against his chest. There's a beating, steady and strong beneath his fingertips. And he can hear it pounding, in his head. He carefully rises to his feet, wincing as the bright sunlight strikes him but does no harm. Coming in through the type of window he's not seen in two hundred years – small rough panels of glass held together with strips of lead. A wondrous figure of light standing before them.

"Ma," is the only word he seems capable of saying, looking at her in wonder.

"Aye. I let y' sleep t' mornin' away on account o' y'r big day, but y' need t' be up now."

She moved around the bed, his eyes tracking her, his heart rate slowly returning to what he assumed was normal, while the muscle itself still squeezed in his chest.

"How're y' feelin' t'is mornin'?" she wants to know, coming to stand in front of him and reaching up.

Her tender hand brushes against his neck and suddenly he winces as a sharp pain stings beneath her fingertips.

"It looks alright," she affirms and he catches their reflections in the small mirror on the dresser.

Reflections – plural. He and his mother. He has a reflection, and a heartbeat, and his mother is standing beside him. Trying hard, he thinks back to what he was doing last night but it's a little foggy. The sight of a gaping red mark on his neck isn't, and it's pretty clear a serious wound has been very recently treated.

"C'me on then. Get dressed. I've got breakfast waitin' for y' in t' kitch'n and then y'r fat'r will bring y' t' the church. Y' needn't worry about seein' Miss Anne – I a'ready sent her down wit' Kathy."

"The church?" he repeated.

He may have a heartbeat, and a reflection, and be standing next to his mother, and be completely confused, but he still knew a few things. He'd killed her, and his father, and Kathy. He had no idea who Miss Anne was. And he hadn't stood in the sunlight in a very long time.

//Wolfram and Hart. I'm the CEO of a fucking big evil law firm, I certainly haven't been told what to do by my mother in a very long time either.// Yet, being told what to do by the lively woman made a smile creep onto his face – that had never happened because of anything Wolfram and Hart had ever done.

"Hurry now," she warned, then disappeared behind the closing door.

In disbelief he walked up to the window, placed his hands on the sill and looked out. At a town he'd left in ruins in the mid eighteenth century. At the last town he'd truly known in the daylight. At the dirt track that had always sat under his window in the room he'd called his own his entire life. This room.

//What the hell happened last night?// he struggled to remember anything from the past few days. Then his belly rumbled. A loud noise and accompanying uncomfortable feeling. //Hungry. Oh yeah, I think I remember you. No chocolate and peanut butter this time. Apples though – mmm, I've missed apples.//

He looked at the clothes laid out on a chair nearby, they were pretty standard fair from what he remembered, not even his Sunday best. Hadn't she mentioned something about going to Church? Ahh well, he was hungry and she'd promised food to go with the memory blank he couldn't fill in.

//Best to just play along for now. The situation will reveal itself// he wisely decided.

He noted the razor, cream and small bowl sitting on the dresser and grinned. It'd been a long time since he had a mirror to help him do this – even if the razor's themselves were much improved. Bare-chested, he washed his face then got to work, removing the rough stubble. He could see his longer hair and took a comb through that too, deciding that he liked that fashion had more recently pushed men into shorter hair – too bad hair gel hadn't been invented yet. Once he was washed up he pulled on the clothes that had been set out on his behalf without too much effort, only wincing as the shirt came over his head and brushed his neck. He then took a moment to study the rough job done on his unhealed wound.

//Vampire Bite// he immediately realises, although someone here has tried to treat it. There's not much he can do about it, it's been cleaned up and stitched, and his stomach is starting to twist, so he heads out into the hallway, taking a moment to remember the layout of the house and then heading towards the kitchen.

His father is in there, just wiping his hands on a rag. As he studies the man from the doorway – someone he'd always been at loggerheads with, had always felt stifled by, he feels – different. Like maybe things aren't as clear-cut as he thought they were. There had been so many expectations heaped on him as the oldest son, but now that he's been introduced to Connor and all the complications that go with him, maybe his perspective has changed a little. Softened.

"Finally up are y'? Long night on the drink before y' got attacked?" his father demands as soon as he spots him lurking there.

Angel slinks into the kitchen and settles down at the table where the meal his mother has obviously laid out for him of boiled eggs and toast with a bit of ham looks delectable.

His father takes up the seat opposite him.

"Y'r twenty-six y'rs old Liam, and y've found a good wom'n. Y' can't be doin' t'is anymore. Once y' say y'r vows to Anne it'll be y'r job to protect 'er. Y'r job to care for 'er," he tells Angel in an almost soft, longing tone.

Like Angel truly has to understand and take to heart what he's saying, even if he never has anything else before, or will again.

//Vows?// he thinks to question but the voice across from him ploughs on before he can reflect too much.

The figure sitting so dominatingly across from him at the table hardens.

"She don't deserve a husband whose drinkin' and whorin' will drive 'er to poverty e ruin end to en early grave! D' yer understand me boy?"

Angel nods, because even after all this time where he's lived more lifetimes than his father ever will, he still feels like the chastised small child. A part of him immediately jumps to rebel, to act exactly the opposite way, but he's matured to a point where even though he doesn't quite understand what's going on, he knows to shut up and listen. To take in all the facts and try to put the puzzle together.

//I don't remember an Anne. Certainly not one I was supposed to marry// he wonders, picking some of the important parts of his father's conversation out already. //Is she a local? Is this some joke of the Powers That Be? To have me marry some brainless idiot after I've long given my heart to Buffy?//

"Good. Finish y'r breakfast. I'm gonna make sure y'r on t'at alt'r if it kills me."

Buffy looked around the little vestibule in an attempt to make some sort of decision. She'd been woken early and whisked to the church before Angel awoke, ostensibly to keep them from crossing paths and invoking that apparently much feared bad luck. Which meant she hadn't been able to talk to him. Which meant the heavy feeling she'd woken up with in the pit of her stomach couldn't be settled. That awful thought that had come on her some time during the night – what if he wasn't, in fact, Angel at all? What if he was Liam? Angel's previous incarnation who didn't know a thing about her?

Of course, the more she thought about it, the more certain she became. The facts added up. He'd been in an alley on his knees, about to be bitten by Darla. In his delirium he'd called for his mother – Angel hadn't seen his mother in more than two centuries.

//Plus, he had long hair which – hello – takes months to grow. Now true I haven't seen him in almost a year but that was seriously long for a guy who was doing short and spiky. Can CEOs even have long hair?// Not really. He wasn't Angel. And he never would be now.

//Uh-oh. I've seen 'Back To The Future' and staking my lover's sire before she could turn him – well – this can't end well.//

But then there were her options – or lack thereof. She knew no one here besides her ex-honey, who most likely didn't know her. She didn't have any money, idea of how to travel, or where she could possibly travel to. The only place that had offered itself up as accommodation was about to expire with the expectation that she get married. Most importantly – she had no idea how to get back home.

And then there was the dress. The beautiful fairytale dress. With the wealth of flowers laying by its side ready to be woven into her hair and the satin slippers, waiting for her to fit into them. There was a warm base of operations and food and a roof over her head while she figured things out. And even though it probably wasn't him – there was that little part of her that never ever gave up hope. It was a corner of her heart and it wouldn't stop throbbing over the thought that maybe in a few hours time she could walk down the aisle of this old church and live out the fantasy that had by far topped any other since she was sixteen years old.

//I could get married to **Angel**.//

"Because things always work out so well for Buffy," she sarcastically muttered to herself.

She took a deep breath, prompted herself to face reality. //Well, as much as you can face reality when you're yanked out of the twenty-first century and into times of yore, where you have no idea what the hell you're going to do.// A sound behind her caught her attention, and Angel's mother and the young girl who'd led her down to the church a little while earlier entered.

//Kathy. Her name is Kathy. Angel has a much younger sister.// How had she not known that? She could take a sneaking guess as to why and the notion that he had killed this timid little thing made her eyes briefly close in regret. There wasn't the chance to get too melancholy though.

"Y'r not even out o' y'r mornin' dress. C'mon lass. Time t' g't ready," Angel's mother prompted.

She still didn't know her name. She looked beautiful though. She'd changed from the gown she had on when she cooked Buffy an early breakfast of eggs and toast. This one was now made of rich, shott green silk to complement the glittering gold beads, and it fit like a glove. Her daughter wore something in a pale pink but carried a posy of flowers making Buffy wonder if Kathy was to be one of her bridesmaids.

She let herself be tugged and yanked and cinched out of the underwear she'd been unable to struggle out of last night and into the beautiful dress as two slightly older girls joined them. Children of Angel's father's sister she worked out, and dressed to match Kathy. Here was the rest of her bridal party then.

Then she was sat and her hair was brushed and arranged while some kind of ochre was painted on her lips until Angel's mother pronounced

"there."

Buffy was turned to the mirror. And her breath caught. Tears flooded her eyes as she studied herself. Her hair was up – she didn't often wear it up now. But it was soft and full of flowers and she looked perfect. The lipstick wasn't her shade but it had a pink tint which complemented her colouring, made her lips looks full and pouty.

A hand touched her shoulder as a face appeared behind her.

"We'll wait for you under the spire…You look beautiful Anne."

That sweet woman. Who had been so kind to her in the short time she'd been here, in the hopes she'd soon have a daughter-in-law. Who obviously wanted to see Angel – Liam – whoever he was, happy.

"An' dunna worry Anne. I have y'r ring," one of the cousin's voices rang out just before the door shut and she was left alone.

"Am I seriously going to do this?" she wondered out loud.

Angel had allowed himself to be pressed into a good suit once they arrive at the church. His shoes were polished, his hair combed, and his brain thoroughly lectured by his father.

And he was still no closer to understanding what the hell was going on.

//Is it an alternative dimension? An alternative timeline?// he wondered. //I was never engaged and I certainly wasn't out on my bucks' night when Darla found me. I don't even remember knowing an Anne, certainly one considered marriageable.//

Certain facts didn't add up but he pressed ahead, ever alert. At this moment he wasn't quite sure if going back was even an option. Had he the know how and the skills to open a portal, how could he be sure he wouldn't be dumped right back where he came from, about to be incinerated? Was this the alternative – to live out the rest of Liam's life here and be married off to a teenage virgin? Because that didn't seem too promising either. The brainless conversations, if they could be called that, he remembered with noble women of this time really didn't promise him much of this woman, girl. Especially one as young as he suspected this one was.

//Probably not even seventeen. Just great – a mindless twit to be my wife.// He stopped himself right there. //That's not fair. I knew Buffy when she was sixteen. She wasn't an idiot.// His heart knocked a little on his chest, reminding him of one other little fact. //She was Buffy. She's special. No matter how old she is.//

"Stan' up straight boy," his father hissed to him from his side.

The music started up from the deep sounding organ at the rear and he was brought back to the present. An entire congregation of people standing to their feet. And him, his father, a vaguely remembered cousin and a friend he'd turned in his last lifetime all dressed in their finest and waiting by the priest.

//Are you actually going to go through with this? This isn't your life.//

It was hard. To watch his mother come down and settle herself in the front pew, a hugely proud smile on her face even as she used a lace handkerchief to blot at her tears. Then the little sister he'd doted on solemnly walking up the aisle, all the agony he'd suffered over her death rushing to the fore. Two other girls he didn't recognise in matching outfits and then the notes changed to something more familiar and the wedding march began.

He was wracking his brains. Anne, Anne. When the hell had he known an Anne?

A slight thing in an elegant dress appeared at the head of the aisle. She acted nervously, like she wasn't sure. And she walked alone – Angel found that odd. He'd been to a few more modern weddings but in this time the women had to be given away. If not by her father then an uncle, some kind of male guardian. For a noble woman to be walking down the aisle alone – exactly who was he marrying? He found it hard to believe his parents had approved of this.

She had a lace veil covering her face and shoulders. Her body pulled into the standard tight corset which rendered almost every female figure the same. Sleeves that reached to her wrists. About the only features he could see were her fingers and her height – not nearly enough information to begin guessing who this was. He couldn't even see her hair colour.

He glanced to her side of the church. The front pew was empty, no family to stand by her, though the other rows were full enough of admirers. The screaming demons in his mind – one asking him if he was truly doing this and the other trying to remember if he remembered the rituals for taking communion – were suddenly blown away in a burst of amazement as he set eyes on her.

//Anne.// The smile that lit his face was uncontrollable. //Anne is Buffy!//

It was plain to see! Blonde hair, deeply familiar face and hazel eyes studying him curiously could all be seen as she approached the altar, placing her hand in his. Her skin. So smooth and – so Buffy!

"Dearly beloved…"

He turned to the priest, looking like he was paying attention but his mind was racing a mile a minute. //It looks like Buffy but is it? No! How could it be Buffy? Is this some ancestor of hers? Is this a facsimile of Buffy created in this time period by whoever brought me here, for some specific purpose? To tempt me into something?//

While his thoughts tumbled over each other to try and make sense of what was happening before him the ceremony wore on. He hadn't time to come to a decision before the priest was asking the maid of honour and best man for the rings.

He felt the weight in his hand and looked down at the traditional but tiny clauddagh, identical to the one he'd presented the woman he already thought of as his wife on her seventeenth birthday. A sad smile touched his lips at the memory of how much he'd been trying to tell her with that gift. It had been ruined by what came after, but the memory of that night still lingered with a bittersweet tang in his soul. The woman in front of him started. Angel's dark gaze ducked up, watching the expressions run over her face – surprise, disbelief, heartache, grief, and then ultimately confusion.

That was all he needed. Every single flicker that had just touched her features told him everything. Buffy - //BUFFY!// - his Buffy was standing before him. Something had happened to her too, she'd been time-shifted or whatever it was, but this was not an eighteenth century nitwit, this was the forbidden love of his existence standing across from him in a flawless white wedding dress waiting for him to say his vows.

The question suddenly answered itself. Would he actually go through with this? //Oh yes beloved.//

Buffy looked in disbelief at the ring placed in her open palm.

// 'My people – before I was changed – they exchanged this as a sign of devotion …'// her memory repeated to her. //Oh god// the memories momentarily overwhelmed her as she thought of that day. Angel had been holding her close, had pulled the small box out of his pocket and slipped it onto her finger. He'd already been wearing his. //'Devotion'// echoed in her head.

It was a wedding ring. He'd given her a wedding ring, they'd made love, and hours later the man she adored had been lost to her.

Her gaze shot up to the creature in front of her, suddenly allowing that corner of hope from her heart to escape and overtake her. //Please be my Angel// she suddenly wished like she never had before. //Just once make everything right.//

The creature taking her hands in his had a dark look of intensity on his face. She'd seen Angel watch her. It looked just like that – searching but devoted with just a hint of awe. But that meant nothing – he could have been doing that while he was human.

The ring felt heavy in her hand as she finally got her answer. She couldn't do it – she couldn't marry something that wore Angel's body but wasn't Angel.

"Repeat aft'r me. I, William Aidan O'Halloran, t'ke y', Anne Summers, t' be m' lawf'lly wedded wife…"

God, he was gazing at her so sincerely. She hated herself for what she was about to do.

"I,"

//what was that? Did he just mouth something to me?// Buffy's head titled just slightly in question.

"William Aidan O'Halloran, take you."

He was speaking very clearly. Right up until that point. Then his voice dropped, so low that even the priest couldn't pick it up, and it was only slayer hearing that allowed her to catch the next word. Really, more than anything he mouthed it. And to the rest of the congregation it just looked like a slight pause, as if he was taking a deep breath. But knowing fingers brushed across her knuckles as he looked deep into her eyes. And from his lips spilled a word Liam would never know.

'Buffy.'

Then his voice found it's previous level and continued flawlessly 'Anne Summers, to be my lawfully wedded wife…"

//… …Oh. OH! …Hell yeah!//

Their hands squeezed together tightly as he finished his vow, repeating every word the priest said precisely with the most powerful determination she had ever heard. Looking absolutely perfect in her mind. She was marrying Angel. Oh sweet lord - //I'm marrying Angel!// She had the urge to suddenly turn and yell in gleeful excitement to the large audience. Somehow managed to keep her exuberance contained enough so that it's only witness was the soulful creature across from her.

The priest was prompting her and without a second thought Buffy followed his lead.

"I – Buffy – Anne Summers, take you Angel William Aidan O'Halloran to be my lawfully wedded husband," she began, understanding what he'd first whispered to her now.

Making sure to keep their names to an almost silent level just between the two of them she still managed to have them said. To make their vows truly correct. This was no longer a way to keep herself undercover until she could return home. This wasn't repaying a debt of kindness to people who had put her up for a night. This was her and Angel standing at an altar being blessed by a priest in a holy sacrament. Even for someone who had never attended a church service in her life, had long ago discarded the notion of religion, it was spiritual.

Then Angel pushed her ring, this ring that looked so much like the precious one she'd given up, onto her ring finger. She copied. And as the priest continued he didn't turn back to hear the old man's words. He clasped her tiny hands in both his huge ones and brought them to his lips. Worshipped their entwined fingers with a long, gentle kiss.

'I love you' he mouthed to her.

He looked ready to lean forward and kiss her, and it seemed like it was only the finely embroidered lace between them that kept him at bay.

'I love you' she mouthed back, hoping it was enough to satisfy him.

She'd been to weddings before. Odd that her own seemed so much longer. And those other ones – they'd been in English. She understood some of what was being said but most of this was in Latin. At least she thought it was Latin. And having never been to a Catholic mass she was pretty much at a loss, there were things she was obviously supposed to know.

But Angel knew. Angel knew she had no clue. And he gave her subtle, private hints that had them kneeling like good Catholics and doing as they ought until finally she heard the words she'd been dying for. Said in English with a thickly overlaid Gaelic but she understood alright.

"Y' may kiss y'r bride."

Buffy stopped breathing. Her hands hung limply at her sides as she turned slowly to face Angel.

//My husband// she realised, the heat behind her eyes jumping up out of nowhere. He paused, and she took the moment to reverently savour him. Standing there in his suit looking like handsome perfection, those deep soulful eyes looking into hers. Both his hands came up, gently clasping the outer edges of her veil and slowly lifting it. Her eyelids dropped, rising with the lace as her new husband revealed himself to her now unencumbered eyesight.

She looked demure. //Buffy is never demure.// But as he lifted that veil away, tears stung in his eyes and he allowed her a moment of overwhelming emotion. There was no question that the person, the wife, who stood before him was his beloved mate.

"Buffy," he whispered, searching her eyes to be sure.

He laid the elegant lace back along her golden hair and saw the flickers of love burning so deep within her generous soul. And something else – longing – that he was all too familiar with finding in Buffy's eyes.

The feather his heart was resting on fell as the penny finally dropped.

//My wife// he savoured the words reverently, making sure to catch her gaze as he resolutely leaned in.

Familiar hands came up and stroked his cheeks as their mouths met, a soft gentle kiss of love. She made that sound – that little mewling sound.

//I remember that!//

He slipped his hands up to her shoulder blades, cupping her close as he delved further into a kiss totally inappropriate for time and place. She was heaven and earth come together as the touch of warm lips sliding over his centred his existence on a single slayer.

Only the roaring cheer of the assembled crowd made them pull away.

Buffy reached up on tiptoes, leaned her forehead against his.

"My Angel," she murmured trustingly.

Her deceptively slim arms stretched desperately around his shoulders, the woman he had longed to hold for more than a year, for more than six years, finally pressed against him.

"I love you," he told her.

The only thing he could get out of his mouth, so desperate was he to say it.

"I love you," she echoed.

The resounding hoot from the congregation tugged them out of the world of two and back into reality. Angel turned his neck just a little, able to see all of their audience while still feeling the warmth of Buffy radiating against his skin. Her perfectly proportioned body pressed up against him as her hot breath fanned over his neck,

It had been a long time since he'd been in this town, and he'd seen many people in his travels. Which meant he recognised very few of the attendees. His parents though, he knew them. His mother looked so incredibly well-pleased, tears flowing down her cheeks as she clapped heartily. And his father, well, for the first time in his life he actually looked proud of something Liam had done.

His joy couldn't be contained and the smile that crossed his face was so heartily genuine. He turned back to Buffy, brushed her lips and then pulled away.

//Look at her. In her pure white gown with flowers in her hair – my wife. My lovely wife.//

He bent his arm and offered it to her. Without even giving her time he took up her small hand and placed it in the crook of his elbow, resting his own lightly on top and wondering at the feeling of it.

She gave him a beautiful smile, as if she understood every sound his heart made was for her, and leaned into his side.

They took the first few steps into matrimony together. They were cheered up the flower-ordained aisle until they reached the foyer. The sun dimly met the heavily shadowed doorway in a pale stripe and Buffy stopped, turning to look at him questioningly.

All of her thoughts were scrawled so plainly across her face. //You think I can't go outside// he mused. //This is why I wanted it// he tried to tell her with his gaze. //This is why I always wanted to be human. This is what that dream was telling me when I first left Sunnydale. The things I long for are all about you Buffy – a life, and picnics, and children. And to be able to walk out of the church with your hand in mine, into the sun where I can see just how radiant you truly are.//

He gives her a small tug, that blinding smile out shining the cloud-concealed sunshine as he draws her out. Just waiting for the look on her face as no longer deadly rays kiss his skin. Her stunned look of surprise tosses his already joyful heart. Like their lost day, it soon disappears and she looks delighted, as happy as he feels. They emerge out of the stone edifice onto the gravel walkway to be merrily showered with grain and petals by the waiting crowd.

"Where are we going?" Buffy laughs as Angel hands her into a waiting carriage, as if it's the most natural thing in the world.

The little door is closed by a footman and the ribboned horses give a lurch, pulling the open carriage out into the street as the well-wishers fill the churchyard.

"I have no idea," Angel confides, falling to his knees and cupping her face in his hands.

"Buffy," he breathlessly wonders, looking into her hazel eyes just to make sure for the hundredth time he is really looking at her. "We just got married."

He leans in until he is infinitesimally close, his hot human breath wafting over her lips as her tongue darts out to wet them.

"Angel," she hungrily whimpers in response.

In a flood of released passion he leans forward and captures her lips. Hungrily pressing her tightly structured figure into the back of the carriage seat, the sounds of delight are muffled as he tastes her lips. Their mouths drink heavily from one another, heedless of their surrounds as the heavenly taste of mate finally returned intoxicates each of them. Dark and light heads duck and weave as they take their fill and more, a lifetime's worth of longing kisses to be caught up on. Fingers slipping eagerly over bare shoulders and through coarse, unfamiliarly long hair.

It is Angel who breaks the hot kisses first. Picking up one of her small hands he gives her an embarrassed smile and draws it under his jacket, pressing her palm against his chest. With his nose he gently nudges her chin to one side, exposing her smooth bare neck to his hungry mouth. It seems to dawn on her while he is placing his lips in the dip of her collarbone and bestowing a long, wet, open-mouthed kiss to her creamy skin.

"Oh god Angel," she whimpers, choking up as she realises what he is trying to tell her. "You have a heartbeat."

//All For You.//

He smiles in quiet male satisfaction as she tilts her head back, giving him freer access to her entire delectably bare shoulder and silently calling for him to touch her. That beautiful skin, warm and pulsing with life – she looks downright edible. Transfixed by her, he slowly leans forward and latches on, suckling, tasting salt and vanilla and – Buffy.

"We're not where we're supposed to be," she breathily tells him, but it doesn't sound like she particularly cares.

Especially not when her leg comes out of nowhere and he feels the pressure of her knee provocatively brushing against his back.

Angel eagerly caresses her arms with his fingers, feeling all the hidden strength of toned muscle. //So strong.// He encloses her upper arms in his hands and hungrily pulls her closer to him. A grunted reply is all Buffy gets as he mouths a path back up to her pouty lips and captures them once more.

"Don't…care," he mutters a moment later.

//I'm ravishing my wife on our wedding day. This is **exactly** where I'm supposed to be.//

Their situation is irrelevant to him. He is much more intent on drinking down the taste of her – swallowing happiness from her lips and pressing up tight against her.

//What I wouldn't give for the Plymouth right now. With its Big back seat. Top that goes up for privacy. Perfect for ravishing your lover. Perfect for ravishing **Buffy**. Everything we don't have right now.//

"Whoa," the driver of the carriage slows the horses, interrupting them.

Dark hair quietly breaks away from her soft body in confusion.

Almost shamefacedly he admits "I forgot we weren't alone," and sets about righting her dress from where his fumbling caresses have dislodged it.

Buffy giggles softly when she notices his hands are lingering on her breasts longer than is strictly necessary.

"I'm thinking that we're going to a reception of some sort." She kisses the corner of his mouth, his cheek, and then nips at his earlobe. "After that I believe there's this thing I've heard of – a – wedding night?"

Angel growls. Or tries to, his vocal cords respond differently now but it induces Buffy's musical laugh privately washing into his ear so the effect is achieved. Teasingly he twists his head and lightly rubs their noses together.

"I think I've heard of that too," he pretends to ponder, suppressing the smirk that threatens to jump forward. "Something about –"

"– Sex," Buffy eagerly cuts him off. "Lots and lots of sex. Which humans," she presses her hand to his heart, that look of bewildered bliss clouding her eyes again, "with heartbeats, can have."

"I'm a human, with a heartbeat," he tells her, her mock seriousness infectious.

His lips quirk at the sound of it, so do her hers as a matter of fact.

"Angel? What's going on?" she asks her bright mood slowly receding as they are faced with the reality of a mud soaked town in a time neither of them belonged.

"I don't know," he answers, glancing around. "But the last few years have taught me that whatever it is, it will be probably be stolen away from us soon."

He reaches up and sadly cups her cheek. "We don't get many shots at happiness. We can either try to work out what's happened, or we can enjoy today. This day where everyone thinks we just got married, where they're so happy that we love each other. We probably won't get another chance at something like this," he murmurs regretfully.

Loving fingers trace his cheeks, before tilting his chin up.

"Then we'd best enjoy this day of ours," she smiles.

In all her glory, looking ravishing in her wedding dress and ready to take their shot, she gives the unmoving carriage door a kick open, and waits for him to hand her out.


	4. Chapter 3

Chapter Three

"Mr e' Mrs. O'Halloran!" a loud voice called as Angel entered the large room, Buffy's hand once again in the crook of his elbow.

A round of applause went up as they stepped through the doorway and into the space teeming with life and colour. Dresses swirled as women moved, everyone's attention on them.

Buffy leaned in close, keeping the smile on her face as she quietly murmured "where are we now?" near Angel's ear. "And how did they all beat us here?"

"The Church hall," he enlightened her. "It's behind the church. We probably just drove around the town to give them time to set up."

"Oh Anne, 'twas so lovely."

She kept her hand firmly clenching Angel's arm while his mother pulled her in, kissing her cheek. Buffy smiled at the tears sparkling in the woman's eyes.

"Now that, Liam," there was only the briefest pause as she repeated the name his family favoured "is my husband, I couldn't have wished for anything more."

Her pronouncement was so sincere that she got another hug before finally being relinquished. It made Angel's smile all the brighter, to see the gentle mother he'd finished off at his darkest hour, loving the woman he loved.

"Well done," came the gruff approval from his father.

He looked away from the endearing sight of his mother and Buffy to an expression he'd never seen on his father's face – begrudging respect and just the hint of hope.

"Thank you."

"Y'er ma 'nd me 're so 'appy yer settlin' down. It's time."

They both turned to look at Buffy, who was now greeting the shy Kathy with all her natural exuberance.

"I know," Angel acknowledged.

//More than time// he agreed.

Patrick turned to Buffy, giving his new daughter-in-law a kiss on the cheek.

"Mrs. O'Halloran," he greeted heartily, obviously proud to have been the first to address her so, and sweeping her up into a fatherly hug the likes of which Angel was sure Buffy hadn't seen in quite awhile.

It's not like Giles was lining up to pass out overt displays of affection, and the only time he'd laid eyes on Hank had been before Buffy even moved to Sunnydale.

His own attention was called away by an aunt he could just barely remember. There was a boisterously happy crowd and lots of food as they eventually sat down to lunch.

"Liam," his best man clapped him hard on the back.

"Thomas," he heartily returned.

He was in the best mood he'd experienced in years, the company of his old drinking buddy could only add to the buoyant feelings these festivities were bringing out.

"That wife o' y'urs," they both turned to look at Buffy.

To Angel she was radiant, sunlight streaming through the small high windows to glint in her hair.

"Y'ur shurr abou' 'er? 's not too late t' change y'ur min'."

The newly made human slowly turned back to his friend. //**Ex**-friend// he corrected.

"Change my mind?" he enunciated slowly.

//About **Buffy**?//

"She's a lil passed it. May no' be abl t' 'ave t'at many bebies a' 'er age," Thomas enlightened him.

Angel's eyes flickered across the room, knowing that the age difference between many of the couples was probably at least ten years. This was expected – experienced older men and very young wives. No wonder he'd been so unhappy here.

Turning back to his friend, "She's sweet and funny with a beautiful soul," he replied sternly. "And the only person I would want to spend eternity with."

He moved in closer, the threatening tone he'd perfected as Angelus still with him.

"I don't want to hear another word against her."

"Tha's a goo' man. I c'n see y'r eager t' asser' y' martial rights an' try wit' 'er – no ma'er how ol' she is! She's in f'r one hell o' a weddin' night."

Internally Angel grimaced, knowing that he too had once been this crass. Luckily before he was offered any more of this inane conversation, warm fingers came up and tangled with his own.

"What are you two boys talking about?" Buffy's head appeared next to his shoulder, her face the picture of sweet innocence.

Angel looked down into her eyes, large round orbs that betrayed her – told him she'd heard everything.

Including Thomas's remarks.

"Jus' how lucky Liam is t' have someone as amiable as y' are Mrs. O'Halloran," the nitwit smoothly replied.

"How sweet," she lightly thanked.

Angel had to try and repress the smirk that twitched at the corner of his lips.

The vacant chair next to him was filled as Buffy in all her large skirts settled herself in. Forgetting all about Thomas, he turned his attention to her, letting his sight be filled with Buffy's slightly peaked looking features.

"Are you alright?" he asked, noting the flushed colour high in her cheeks.

She leaned in close, put her lips to his ears. He closed his eyes for a brief moment, revelling in the sensation as she whispered to him

"This dress has me squeezed to within an inch of my life. It's amazing these women can even breathe."

He pulled back, studying her worriedly for a moment before she patted his hand reassuringly and buried her face in his neck.

"Don't worry, you can help me out of it soon," she murmured.

Beneath the table her hand brazenly brushed over his crotch, assuring him of pleasures to come. A light kiss at the base of his throat and then she pulled away, looking very mischievous and entirely kissable.

"Tease," he muttered under his breath.

He shot her a mock scowl and got a hearty laugh in return.

Later on there was dancing and as he pulled the steps from a long ago lost memory he guided a clueless Buffy around the floor, bodies twining, feet tangling and souls laughing as they whirled.

Throughout the day he held his mother, his sister, and his lover in his arms. He'd seen that flash of a wish in his father's eyes a few more times. And when it was all over, a crowd of loud and drunken revellers escorted them to a small but well built cottage a few streets from the home he'd grown up in.

Caught up in the moment, Angel bends down and slings an arm under Buffy's knees.

"Angel!" she yelps, wrapping her arms around his neck as he swings her up into his arms.

Hoots and catcalls follow them through as he does something he long ago fantasised about. Carries Buffy over the threshold.

"G' fer it Liam!"

"Y' shew 'er who's the man o' the house!"

"G' on! Get at 'er."

And other more obscene cheers are joined by loud whistles. He doesn't give them a second, his foot kicking out at the door bringing satisfaction to him as he hears it slam shut, the rabble outside laughing all the louder.

Now it's just him and the puff of meringue in his arms. He can't quite bring himself to put her down. She cups his cheek in her fingers and turns his lips towards hers, capturing them in a kiss which quickly gets hungry.

They're alone, all alone.

"Buffy," he murmurs, wanting to free a hand and touch her face, but not wanting to put her down.

Her tongue is sliding over his, her fingers tugging even as they thread through his hair. Their lips meld, then break, then meld again, getting more ferocious every time.

"Angel," she struggles to whisper in one of the breaks.

It's brief though, soon she's pressing her mouth against his in a hot, salacious burst of emotion. She weaves back and forth and his lips are on fire. Buffy kisses are the sweetest, sexiest kisses that ever existed and he knows it. They're vivid life and gasped breath – even though he has those things for himself now.

"Find the bedroom, and get me out of this dress," she distractedly demands.

She still hugs him close but now a hot wet kiss is on his cheek, then the hinge of his jaw and then she's buried in his neck where her teeth get involved. He has to stifle a groan as warmth tingles from her nipping love bites straight down to his groin. Her hands start wandering over his shoulders and he loses what focus he has.

A low moan rumbles in his chest. His head ducks down and takes her lips with his again. She tastes so good – better than he remembers. Their kiss is moist without being sloppy, eager and feverish but still so skilled.

Tugging away she plants those big green eyes on him. They stare at one another even as he leans forward to taste her again.

"Bedroom," she harshly reminds.

The ties at the top of his shirt start coming undone.

"Right, bedroom," he nods.

She turns her cheek when he tries to take her lips.

"You're going to make love to me in a bed, Angel. Now find the goddamn bedroom."

He hears her forceful words and his mind flashes him an image of naked Buffy laid out before him on a bed like the ultimate prize of redemption – and he feels his cock harden. His blood pumping. He whips his gaze around, spying a small hallway off the main room they're standing in. The fire is lit and it's warm in here. There's a small meal of bread, cheese and cold meat laid out at the table, someone must have come ahead and prepared.

Still, he doesn't notice any of these things.

He notices a room that seems to be glowing at the end of the little hallway and hurriedly strides towards it. He twists in the doorways to ensure Buffy doesn't get bumped. All her long puffy skirts do but when he looks down to ask if she's ok, all he sees is her normally more restrained chest forced up to create ample cleavage. His mouth salivates at the sight and he stumbles, not looking where he's going. What he sees is soft plump creamy flesh that he barely got a taste of a few years ago.

//I'm going to taste your whole body before the evening is out.//

The sound of her voice murmuring "Oh Angel. It's beautiful," draws him away from the trance her breasts have him in.

He looks up, the candle-filled room and softly burning fire providing just enough ambience that his attention isn't riveted on the downturned bed. Buffy may not remember their lost day – but she was going to remember tonight. She rests her head on his shoulder and he turns to tuck her head under his chin.

//Are we actually here?// he questions fate. Something wet touches his neck and he looks down in surprise.

"What is it?" he asks, concerned.

She nuzzles into him with tears slipping down her cheeks and simply shakes her head. He sets her on her feet and then pulls her close.

"Even if it's not real," he begins, knowing what she's thinking. "It still feels real."

Buffy nods, draws back a little and looks up to his worried dark eyes.

"Make love to me. Before it disappears," she begs, stroking his features like he too is going to fade into the ether.

He covers her hands and for a moment holds her still. They stare at each other longingly, confirming that they both want this. Angel yearns for it as much as he knows it will be over too soon. The first time, anyway. And it shouldn't be – not on their wedding night.

Silently, he moves his hands down and undoes each of the tiny pearl buttons running down her front. It takes a few minutes – they're miniscule and he has large hands that make him fumble to keep hold of them, but eventually he succeeds. With careful hands he reaches into her hair and studies the veil for a moment, trying to work out the mechanism before he finds a small clasp and lifts it off, reverently laying it on a chair beside the fireplace. Then the wedding dress comes off too and though he's laid it out with the veil – it doesn't seem like she's that much closer to being undressed. There are still layers and layers of skirts and a rather tightly pulled corset to go with it.

His hands slither to her waist and he holds her still, even as he weaves his way behind her. Trying to ignore his hardening sex and its demands for naked Buffy.

"You know," she tells him, her voice confidently understated. "If we were at home, I'd be wearing nothing but some sexy lingerie now."

He bites his lip, trying not to picture it as he starts his struggle with the lacings that have her bound up so tightly in the white cotton fabric that makes up the underdress.

"I dunno, something subtle," she muses, like she doesn't know what he's picturing as he yanks the cord from the eyelets, weaving back and forth with desperate speed.

"A lacy white bra. Maybe a thong."

Angel's restraint snaps. He yanks her back into his arms, lets her feel his burgeoning erection against her hip.

"Mmmm, baby. All for me?" she taunts, rubbing against him.

In retaliation he reaches inside her neckline, not quite coherent enough to realise he's undone most of the laces. His index finger travels down the sensitive valley between her luscious breasts and she gasps. Then stops to take a long deep breath, and moans. Then there's silence as he rubs her in that single, tantalising spot, absently grinding himself against her.

Out of nowhere, she breaks his lost concentration with a single demand delivered through clenched teeth.

"Get me out of this dress."

It's slowly been becoming easier to breathe as the bindings on the dress are released, but as soon as the promise of Angel's erection brushes her, she's breathless all over again. She wants to ride it, feel it stretching deep inside her. Now.

He's still fiddling with something behind her back and then he grabs the skirt and starts lifting. She raises her arms into the air and when she emerges again from the darkness she's partially naked.

//Thank god.//

"You're over-dressed," she tells him, just before he crushes her to his chest.

The cloth he's wearing rubs against her bare torso, tantalises her exposed nipples. She wants to whimper at how good it feels but he's stolen all her breath. And his hands, his large smooth hands are caressing the skin on her back, all the way down to that dip in her spine just above where she begins to curve. They are heating her skin even as the coolness of the night air creeps in.

His mouth is hungry and he pulls her in closer to him. She has to wiggle to get her hands between them, but the remaining buttons on his shirt are quickly loosened. A deep sound of frustration grunts from her throat when what resembles a tie refuses to cooperate and come undone.

Angel's hands leave her back //No!// and come to help her, discarding the wretched thing.

"Ohhhhh," she moans.

With a hearty shove down his arms both shirt and jacket are wrenched off of him, discarded to the floor and totally forgotten. Their chests press together and the warmth of his skin nearly burns her. She wants to tell him how good it feels, to have the shared sensation of nude torsos pressed together but it won't come out. Instead she finds herself caressing his bare shoulder blades, revelling in the barely restrained power she can feel shifting beneath her fingertips.

Buffy holds him closer and tilts her head slightly, baring her neck as he studies it not with hunger or vicious kisses she's sometimes imagined, but slow, hungry mouthfuls that are so wet and hot and alive like she's never experienced before.

Her body writhes in his embrace, feeling the promise of his hard length pressing cloth into her belly. With eager hands she reaches down, fingering the ties and buttons until Angel's pants are loose and she can push them down.

It springs free.

The long, silky hard length that took her virginity with a painful snap of his hips and in a single round of love making ruined her for every cock that would follow. Hard and heavy he thrusts forward, tormenting her, showing her what she doesn't yet have.

"Buffy," he quietly pleads.

He pulls away, looking down from under heavy, dark lashes. Holding his gaze she silently reaches out, letting the palm of her hand caress the stiff rod. It twitches beneath her, pulsing an angry red, begging for her touch and as she brushes over the mushroom tip with her thumb she feels a drop of wetness trail onto her skin.

His hands tighten their hold on her and she can feel how hard it is for him to restrain himself. He remains silent but that hungry, dark possessive look on his face says everything for him. His desire for her is burning hot and ready, and soon, he's going to devour her.

Lithe hands continue to touch, slowly, reverently, becoming reacquainted with the part of his body she has hot dreams about, the ones where she wakes up wet with her hands already sliding under her sheets. Watching him as she does it she sees the tiny grimaces. The way his jaw sets, his shoulders stiffen. And she feels more powerful now than any time she's averted an apocalypse and saved the earth.

She's so caught up in watching him and feeling him that she can only clutch at his neck as he finally cups his hands under her bottom cheeks and lifts her onto the bed. He follows after her, powerful muscles rippling under his pale skin, as he looms over her, larger than life. His nude body aroused and a look of stark naked starvation glistening in his eyes as he pushes her back into the mattress.

The illusion that he's going to kiss lasts right up until his lips barely brush against hers and then keep lowering themselves down her body. His hands deftly remove the pantalets that encase her legs and his nimble fingers soon skim the satin-smooth skin of her inner thigh. A single thumb is the first point of contact and, as his dark eyes lock onto hers, he brushes it at the warm entrance that now belongs solely to him.

//Whoa// Buffy calls herself up short. //Where did that come from?//

Yet, as they shift around on the bed, get Buffy's head onto the pillows and then start sharing whispered intimacies, she can't help but acknowledge that it's true. Angel's hand exploring between her thighs is the only one she can allow there, now and forever. And it's pointless to deny that everything up until now has been a failed attempt to recreate what he made her feel that one night.

Which is why, for the first time, she doesn't want it quite like this. It should be like before – with him moving over her, those strong, powerful muscles flexing like a panther as he takes her, watches and revels in her enjoyment. Those large hands should be caressing her hips, her shoulders, her back and breasts, not lovingly stroking her mound while his cock hardens in painful longing.

"Angel," she coaxes, tugging him from between her thighs and bringing the sticky hand to her lips.

He looks scandalised as she takes the moistened fingers to her lips and cleans off her own essence.

//Well, I did learn some things without you.//

A little wriggling from her is all it takes and the velvety sac is nestled in the vee of her thighs. Teasing her with the provocative tip just brushing against her belly button.

//God I want it inside me.//

He braces himself on his elbows and hovers over her, studying her face. She's still got the flowers threaded through her hair and the style its been done up in is more formal than last time. Then again – this time he's not pushing between the open welcoming thighs of a college freshman whose sexual experience amounts to his deflowering, the fumblings of an uneducated boy and a whole lot of fantasy. This woman has been tried and fucked and used, and that's not what he's thinking at this moment.

Right now he's thinking //Buffy. I get to make love to Buffy. Again. This is my reward. Maybe my final reward – and if it is final then they chose the perfect gift.//

With thrusts that are agony for him he nonetheless tries to hold himself back, tries to arouse her further since she won't let him touch her with his fingers. He'll let it slide for now, but he has no doubt his eager fingers will be back there later. He kisses her face and hair, her bared shoulders and slender neck. Mouthfuls of flesh across her collarbone are left glistening with his saliva.

"You're so beautiful," he whispers as he moves from one side of her neck to the other. "I missed you."

"I've missed you," she confides, her hips rolling beneath him like a ship pitching on a violent storm at sea.

There's a gasp and he wonders if having the base of his erection rubbing the top of her sensitive sex is making their joining that much more urgent for her, like it is for him.

"So good," he whispers, finding the hollow of her throat with his eager lips.

He can feel her pulse there, her anxiousness as she swallows her repressed fire over and over.

"Angel," she suddenly interrupts.

Her hands brace on his upper arms and he looks up into her sparkling eyes.

"After six years, I really don't need foreplay," she enlightens.

He groans and buries himself in her shoulder, trying to hold back. His hips buck unnaturally as he tries to stop them from doing what they want the most. Sliding right into her heat.

"I'm trying to make it special," he iterates, though the rhythm of his trim masculine hips driving at her supple feminine opening belay his words.

A subdued kiss gets dropped on his bared shoulder as he struggles to keep back the rising tide that will bring gratification.

"It's you and me. It's special," she says definitively.

Then she raises her supple thighs and wraps them around his waist, a rather playfully impish look spreading over her features as she quips

"Hurry up and get in."

Dainty feet explore his back, buttocks and thighs, tantalising him with the feeling of being surrounded by everything he's wanted and been denied for the past six years. She keeps doing it, a soft toe even daring to press into the taut crack at the base of his spine until finally he lifts her up the bed a little and gives in. A hard cock can only slide over the entrance to a buttery warm vagina for so long before its owner loses control and it has to push inside.

"Oh GOD Angel!"

//Oh YES!//

Buffy's back arches and his hands slide beneath her, clutching her to his chest while her head presses down into the pillow. Her hips, svelte and graceful, stay locked to the bed beneath him as he slides inside her.

It is snug, tight. Like he remembered.

//As if she hasn't allowed scum like Spike and the Immortal to trespass in this – **my – **heaven.// But that ugly thought doesn't linger long. Her athletically smooth body wrapped around him ensures that.

He grunts, the only thing he can get out of his incoherent brain. It's concentrating with ideas limited to //Push harder// and //Push deeper// and //Lick//.

Buffy is much more vocal.

"YES!"

Her mouth forms a perfect round 'O' of stunned surprise, and her eyes are squeezed tightly shut. But her dark puffy lips are spread wide open, split by the girth of his arousal, that's really all the encouragement he needs. Just in case it wasn't enough though, words start babbling out of her. She thrusts her hips up, taking him all the way to the base.

"Buffy," he's startled when his smooth steady push is cut off and he feels the neatly trimmed wiry hairs of her pussy rubbing at him.

"Angel," it comes whimpering out of her.

He nips at her earlobe, silently wondering why the Powers had wanted to keep them from doing something so beautiful. So right.

"Please, Angel."

Involuntarily, he starts moving. She's dripping wet, having him on top seems to add to her enjoyment. He leans down to kiss her after she unknowingly runs her tongue over her already glistening pink lips.

"Love you," she murmurs when he pulls away for a moment so he can see her like this.

It's breath taking – and he has breath to take now. Her hair is in disarray, pulled from its formal style but still scattered with the wildflowers. She's flushed, not like when she's been through a hard fight, but in that way that only good sex can flush a woman's cheeks. Her lips are wet and reddened from their kisses. Her eyes are wide, locked onto him with a love so deep he never thought he'd see it again. And she's lying back, her body making complimentary motions as he fluidly rides her.

"I love you so much," comes spluttering up from his heart as he watches the woman he adores, the one who told him he had to wait until she was done baking, beneath him and reacting to being impaled on his cock.

//Fuck she's beautiful.//

She pulls him down into her neck again, tugging him to the mark he once left on her body. He lightly bites at the brand his undead teeth bestowed and feels her respond with involuntary ecstasy, just as a mate should.

"That's right," he assures her, his own body shuddering to see her react like that.

He sets out nipping at the spot a little harder.

Then he pulls away and takes up her left hand. Bringing it up before him. Watching her watch him as he encases it in his warm palms and drops his lips to the shining ring.

That had been his heart, offered out to her so many years ago. And when he'd come back to himself, come back to Sunnydale what felt like a century later, she'd discarded it like she'd discarded him. At least, that was how it felt. She hadn't known what it truly meant to him to see her slip a claddagh onto her small finger, he didn't have the guts to explain it to her that night and had never gotten the chance after. But the pain of seeing it gone was just as intense. She'd never worn it again. It had been more symbolic than any words or actions or curses could ever have been.

And now once again there was the traditional silver ring of his people on her finger and the vow had been spoken out loud to go with it.

Nothing else has ever made him so horny. Not even the blood and gore of a soulless demon.

"I've wanted you so badly," he grunts.

Their hips are slowly but surely speeding up, and knowing that Buffy, his woman, deserves every pleasure there is to be had, he rests all his weight on one elbow and without looking slips a hand between them. Tries to avoid his own pistoning shaft as he further parts the soft flesh and reaches in to find her pleasure centre.

Buffy whimpers in a cute, back-of-her-throat barely-there squeak he knows he's going to love hearing over and over again. Her teeth sink into his shoulder and he knows how good she feels, because she's biting all that pleasure into his flesh.

"Yes," he encourages huskily.

A busy erection coupled with smugly knowing fingers seem to be enough. She's clutching at him ferociously, with her hands and with the powerful walls of her core. She's trying to draw him in further, an instinctive feature of human biology as the large male she's chosen as her mate tries desperately to bring her to her pleasured peak.

"Please," he begs, knowing his ability to restrain his own climax is almost worn away. "I can't remember what you look like when you come."

Her legs flex at his hips and her still-so-young eyes open wide. With determination his fingers push down on her clit insistently.

"Show me Buffy, show me how alluring you are in the throes of orgasm," he beseeches her.

Gaze trained on her, it only takes a few more deep rounds of penetration she obviously can't resist before it happens.

Powerful slayer hips bow beneath him, the tight clenching of her canal refusing to let him withdraw anymore. He strums his fingers over her delicate clit, enjoying orchestrating such a violently pleasurable reaction from such a beautiful creature.

Buffy throws her head back and silently screams.

"Oh yes," he approves, eagerly rubbing her clit in small circles.

Then he follows her. And it's a blinding flash of painful light and the tightening of balls achingly heavy with years of disuse.

//Take it all my beautiful wife// he approves as he lays her limp form out beneath him and sinks himself in irreparably deep.

Her body still tremors with aftershocks but he no longer has the faculties to play with her slick button. For the first time almost in his memory hot, living seed spurts out of him in blissfully relieving bursts. The radiant slayer under him, all tumbled and spent makes him tremble with the soft hands she strokes over his flanks.

And the quiet "does that feel good Angel? To come inside me?" draws forth another torrent of sticky warmth just when he thought he was spent.

"Sweet Jesus," he mutters, absolutely limp as he collapses.

A moment passes before Buffy gets the strength to push him off, and he's briefly sorry that he ruined the experience by almost suffocating her, being so insensitive. But then she lifts her head and rests it on his chest, takes the dead weight of his arm and wraps it around herself.

He takes the cue and tightens the grip on her, cuddling her up under his chin, his hearty approval silent as she tucks one of her slim legs between his as well. Now they're all tangled together, like you should be when you're with your soul mate's naked body.

"So," she lazily comments after a moment. "That's what making love feels like. You know, I'd forgotten."

Her fingers start tracing light patterns of no meaning on his chest.

"I mean it was so long ago, and I was trying to be mad at you, and it was my first time so I assumed it was always going to be different and un-live-up-to-able in my memory."

She's rambling but he thinks it's cute and instead of making him worry about her, it just brings a sleepy smile of contentment to his features. Then her fingers stop and she raises her head, props her chin up on his chest and settles her soul-deep gaze on him.

"Turns out it wasn't the virginity thing that made it feel like that. It was you."

The way she's looking at him – like if she could only look long enough she might just understand the very nature of his being, freezes him where he is. It's not just sex with him and he wonders if, within her heart, she's discovered that yet. He's been with others too – the three sisters on numerous occasions, Darla, even Cordy in a Shaman-induced fantasy. And that doesn't even take into account the years of soulless debauchery where his own long-lasting pleasure was paramount.

None of them come close to the somewhat rushed experience of just now. Or the lost day. Or her seventeenth birthday. For one simple reason.

"I love you," he tells her sincerely, drawing her hand up to his lips once again.

They make love. He's been with a multitude of women, but only with Buffy does he make love.

Her gaze is captured by something and he follows her eye line to his hand and the silver ring it now sports. A sign of devotion and unhidden love twined around his masculine finger.

"Now," she grabs at his hand then props herself up on her elbows and peers down at him from above. "About this wedding ring you gave a teenager."

She clucks her tongue, tracing the band with her fingers.

He doesn't look nor feel guilty and as he shuts his eyes and lays back in blissful happiness, it must show on his features. Because he gets a light slap on his chest.

"Totally inappropriate birthday gift."

"I knew she was the only woman I had ever and would ever love. There was nothing more appropriate if you ask me."

He looked up just in time to see Buffy's head turning towards the fireplace, a guiltily happy smile sneaking up onto her cute little mouth as she loses herself in the memory. He can think of some other things to say, about how she didn't keep it, but he pushes them aside. He doesn't want anything to spoil this perfect mood they're in.

The glinting firelight and soft romantic candles are making her pale blonde hair glow and her tanned skin seem more golden than usual. And then there's her breasts. He'd forgotten about them in the rush to kiss her. But now that the intense heat of lust is tempered a little, he can think again. Well, as much as one can think with two small mounds of flesh topped off with coral pink nipples pertly pushing out just inches from your gaze.

His throat dries as he studies them without Buffy's knowledge. Her hair falls across, brushing the taut point and then hiding it from view, burying it behind a soft curtain of gold perfection. There's a contrast now – one breast supple and available, bared before his mouth and the other concealed, occasionally peaking out as she breathes.

"Come here."

A demand escapes his throat all deep and husky and she turns back to him in surprise, to find him hungrily eyeing her small breasts. Flat hands press at her back and she finds herself on top of him, the hair slowly being swept back over her shoulder and her erotically stark nipples being lowered into his mouth.

"Angel?" she queries, mystified by the look of salivating need on his face.

She can't understand how a man who's possibly had every body shape of a woman there is to have, finds her below-average chest attractive, but it brings a warmth bubbling up in her anyway. The room is warmed by the fire but her nipples pucker at the expression of want as she is brought to him and not only the taut peak but the entire breast is captured in his hungry mouth.

He gazes up at her as he tongues and swallows and tastes the tender flesh. It makes her head fall back, her body arch, a loud moan escape her lips. Straddling his upper chest she feels the press of his strong developed pectoral muscles flexing beneath her dampening slit. He's eagerly clasping at her back, drawing her down further and making appreciative moaning sounds as he suckles at her, tonguing her big dollar-sized nipples like he's going to find heaven.

Buffy reaches down, finds Angel's dark man-nipples and slowly fingers them as he teases her. As he silently swaps breasts, she knows he's watching her, watching what he does to her. Like a well-played instrument her hands splay across his shoulders, helplessly grinding at his chest with her flowering opening. It feels good – too good. He's too talented, too eager and the press of his hard body beneath her is just enough to really remind her who she's with. Acknowledging the fact that no man but Angel has ever truly owned her heart will bring her close to the brink again.

Trying to grasp a hold of something tangible, she slides her body a little further down, feeling the hard abdomen of her lover clenching when she lightly strums her fingertips over it. Her control slips as teeth are thrown in and the ignored side suddenly gets the back of one hand stroking down the outer curve.

"Sweet, talented man," she praises incoherently, her attention tunnelling to breasts that have never really been this sensitive before.

Even the techniques of the much-practised Spike could never get more than a small sigh out of her when he played with them. But this, what Angel is doing, this is going to make her come. Again.

"You have big, luscious nipples sweetheart," he tells her, breaking a silence permeated only by the occasional crackling log as he switches between them.

It's a compliment she's never gotten before, never thought about before. She flushes, ducking her head in embarrassment, as he tastes her like she's a decadent treat. Her passageway slicks and tightens with his admiration and Buffy finds herself disoriented as she is hugged close and then rolled over once more. The attentions continue but a seeking hand slides up between her thighs, his palm pressing against her pouty lips and soft opening before he probes her, slicks two fingers into her intimate portal.

"Angellll."

She keeps saying his name. She can't help it – it sounds so right, to hear his name out loud, not just as longing in her head, while she's being touched by a man. If its possible, it makes it even more intimate, like there is nothing in the world besides her and Angel. A few minutes ago he was clinging to her like he wanted to hold her tight and fall asleep. Now, his fingers are becoming more eager and he abandons her breasts. His path south is slow, full of hot mouthfuls of flesh and teased skin while his broad shoulders bunch and stretch as he moves.

Eventually his weight is gone from her altogether and he's settled between her thighs. It's probably illegal in the time they currently exist in, so it's very lucky they're alone. Because he gently parts her thighs, enough to fit himself comfortably between them, and then props himself up. His mouth is so close to her she can feel his warm breath wafting over the sensitive lower regions.

Eager thumbs pry her apart and then the point of a bold wet tongue reaches out, dipping just inside her slit from the tight rosebud of her anus to beneath the protective hood of her clit.

"Fuck yes," she hisses, a hand shooting down and tangling in his hair.

He does it again, slowly. She feels the slight scratch of beard-stubble against her inner thigh and for some reason it adds to her arousal. He does things she's never experienced before, but somehow feels she's been waiting a lifetime for. Like his thumbs which caress her outer lips as he draws them back and out of the way. And his lips, softly sucking her sensitive walls in a move that has her back arching in frantic disbelief. And his nose, softly nudging her clit as he French kisses a very different set of lips. He keeps going until she's fallen over the brink then abandons the sensitive mound and all its sensual pleasures to quickly scale her body.

"You're so creamy baby," he tells her in wonder, looking over her mouth appreciatively before he locks on and shares the taste of her cum with her, forgoing presenting her the choice as he slides his coated tongue against hers.

Further down his cock does the same though that opening struggles to fit him despite the abundance of lubrication.

"And your cock is monstrous," she gasps, her toes curling as, like before, it keeps going in.

Keeps parting her lips though they're already overstretched. It feels like he's pressing a hand into a glove that's too small. Were she with any of her previous lovers, it would already be in by now. She wonders if he knows that though she's now had five men and two dildos in her life, there's still a little pain having him enter.

Hard and horny, unused to blood pumping through his system, Angel seems to let loose the first reply that jumps into his head.

"It's big now, but it's got to keep your sweet tight pussy orgasming the rest of your life. You still want to feel tight when I've broken you in."

He sounds arrogant and uncaring but she's not quite paying attention. He has it all the way in and it's like her body has been breached. Painful and yet phenomenally fantastic. Angel starts moving, withdrawing and re-entering her with the long denied pleasure of his massive tool.

"I'm so sorry," he groans, as if just understanding what he said. "My mouth isn't connected to my brain, you just feel so good, and I can taste your cum on my tongue. And your tits look fake, they're so fantastic – Mmmm. Buffy."

That's when she makes a realisation that cracks her up: Angel, sweet, eloquent, loving Angel, is just like any other man when he has an erection and the blood rushes away from his head. For some reason that softens her heart even more, the idea that Angel is a real man now. One who sweats and grunts and feels delicious sliding over her with his warm human body.

This time around he has more stamina and that beast of a cock splits her open for almost half an hour. When she finally comes he again watches on with satisfaction until she is completely finished, then pumps his hips eagerly, watching her face as she feels the splashes of scalding hot live cum all the way to her womb.

_This time he manages to fall to her side but after that can't budge. An arm is draped protectively over her, as if to ensure she can't leave. She welcomes it, pulls the blanket up over them and gets as close to him as she can, breathing in the heavy scent of their mingled sweat and sex as they tiredly fall asleep._


	5. Chapter 4

Chapter Four

Angel wakes to the odd sensation of a chill. He glances to his right, a curtained window almost disappearing into the wall tells that it's still dark outside. Then he notices his left shoulder feels warm, heavy. Looking down he unthinkingly lets loose a soft sigh of perfect happiness. Buffy. Her hair's all astray and she looks thoroughly ravished.

/_Definitely perfect happiness/_/ he muses, brushing a loose strand of hair back from her face. She looks so serene, curled up against him, her hand resting peacefully on his lung, as if she needs to feel him breathe. Her ear over his heart as if she needs to feel its magical beat.

She shivers slightly and snuggles in even closer. Even then there's this cute little smile touching the corners of her lips. He tugs at the quilt, wrapping it around the fulfilment that is their entwined bodies. The air still has a nip in it.

/_It's cold, huh?_/

He carefully props himself up on an elbow, just enough to see over her nicely loved body to the small fireplace that had lit their bedroom as they touched each other hours before. There are barely glowing embers left now.

As delicately as he can, he lifts her off his torso and substitutes his pillow, placing a long kiss on her forehead. She stirs a little but doesn't seem to wake. He hovers over the bed for a moment, savouring this image. Even if it all disappears, he won't have been left wondering – he'll have known true happiness once more.

Leaving Buffy to her dreams he pads across the room, grabbing a robe from where it waits neatly laid out by some unknown person – as if waiting for this moment.

/_I was probably supposed to wear it last night. Come to her in my nightclothes and undress her slowly…Well, it's not like it was our first time. We were desperate!/ _he justifies to himself.

/_Besides, she didn't need me to go slow. She's a woman…_/

"Damn it," he quietly swears under his breath, looking back at Buffy.

There are a few things he remembers from when he grew up, from times when a few bob got you drinks and a meal with enough left over for a tavern wench. An unsightly group of louts will invade their privacy sometime in the morning. Expecting to find evidence of Buffy's chastity. He should know – he's been part of quite a few of these invasions – the loudest and most crude more than once.

Squatting before the almost-cold fireplace he carefully appraises the collection of wood and kindling sitting in a neat pile by the side. One piece is carefully selected and set aside and then he gets down to starting a new fire. Ten minutes later the flames have flared up and are starting to catch onto the heavier logs. He places a screen over the front and stands for a little while, getting warm. The hours before dawn are the coldest, and his human body feels like it needs all the warmth it can get.

There's a soft moan from the bed, then she sits bolt upright, clutching the blankets to her chest.

"Angel?" she gasps in the most frantic tone he can ever remember hearing from her, and it cuts him.

/_What have I done?_/

"I'm here Buffy," he soothes, striding the short distance until he's sitting by her side. "I was cold."

His justification is guilty.

She closes her eyes and the relief is palpable. Though he might remember the lost day, where she woke at least twice to find him beside her, Her memories only extend to waking up a single time. Alone – and with Angelus as a surprise for later.

"Don't ever do that to me again," she whispers anxiously.

She's pressed her face into his neck and doesn't seem to be moving, her toned arms even slip around his shoulders to pull him closer.

"Ok. I won't get up to start a fire in the dark of night again," he assures with a hint of teasing, trying to lighten the situation, to get her mind off all the horrid things that have happened in their past.

"Oh," he feels her peek up from his shoulder.

Pulls away to see her looking first at the fireplace, then into his eyes with just a touch of the playfulness he was hoping to find.

"Well, fires are of the good. I guess. When it's freezing like a – freezer oh my god why is it so cold in here?"

The distressed girl in his arms disappears and dives back under the covers 'til not even a single blonde hair remains to peek out.

He unties the robe and throws it in the vague direction of the chair then climbs over the Buffy-lump, back to his side of the bed.

/_My side! I have a side!_/

"We're not in Southern California anymore Toto," he jokes, slipping in alongside her.

He gets a good-natured slap on his thigh.

"I know that," an indignantly muffled voice tells him.

"No central heating, poor insulation," he tries again.

Something along the lines of "Harrumph," comes out this time. He lifts the blanket and watches as she squirms around until finally she's laid herself out on his body, her nose the only thing poking out beneath the quilt.

"Make me warm," her soft, restful voice asks with a quiet sigh as he gladly wraps his arms around her.

"Happy to."

They lie in silence, Buffy's fingers exploring in a mindless way that suggests she just wants to feel him more than anything. He's almost drifted off to the most restful sleep ever when her roving fingertips reach his hand.

"What's this?" she wants to know.

He feels her prying open his fingers to find a small thick twig. A chin rests on his and green eyes are peering down at him expectantly.

"A game only grown-ups play?" she jokes.

Angel waits for his eyes to readjust to the light, then holds her tight and rolls her beneath him.

"Not quite. I don't think you want to know."

He sits up, holds a sharp edge to his palm, and slices.

"Hey!" she cries out in unexpected surprise. "What are you doing?"

Angel ignores her, lifts back the bed covers, hopes Buffy doesn't ask anymore and grinds his bleeding palm into one of the main stained spots from their activities last night.

"Ok – ew. I'm thinking – I sexed you up so good last night you've lost your mind?" comes an optimistic guess.

With a snort he reaches over to the bedside table and takes up a folded handkerchief. Careful feminine hands take it from him and lovingly tend to his wound, wrapping the makeshift bandage around his hand.

"Explain," she demands.

He swallows.

/_This is awkward./_/

"What makes us married…" he begins and then trails off.

/_How the hell do I explain this to her?_/

"In this time there is no divorce," he tries again, forcing himself to meet her eyes so he can see if she is understanding. "The only way to end a marriage is for one of us to die, or to get an annulment."

/_That's it. Focus on the legal aspects. It's less – grim._/

"And – and there is no genetic testing, no paternity tests in a society based very much on patrilineal inheritance. So there's an expectation of chastity and …purity – I mean for women –"

"They want to know I was a virgin on our wedding night," Buffy interrupts him.

He is startled.

/_How did she guess?_/

"I have watched movies, Angel. Read books?"

She looks so calm and collected about it.

"Are you trying to maintain my reputation or something?"

He grins as she crawls over him, pushing him back into their pillows.

"Or something."

Her lips hover over his, looking so full and pouty and seductive as she captures the bottom one between her teeth.

"Angel," she breathily approves, her eyelids drooping as her features turn serious.

"Buffy."

This was it. This was what so many lifetimes worth of fighting would have been for. This reward. The touch of her mouth. The feeling of her nipping slowly at his lip. The gentle prying open for a long, deep kiss by her explorative, demanding tongue. Its not in his nature to be passive, and soon he and Buffy are rolling through the sheets – first he's on top then she is as they mouth one another's exposed and tempting skin.

The spectre of every other lover she's had disappears like smoke when she's so actively seeking his mouth. And they're the only ones that matter – he's had sex since her, but Buffy's the only one to have had relationships outside of them. His cock gets hard, waiting to repossess her. Soon her weeping hot entrance is swallowing him up again. Or he's pushing into her, it's not really clear as their lovemaking gets intense, passionate. Angel's cloth-covered hand feels like slow murder as he's half denied the ability to touch, but her sensitive breasts seem to enjoy it. More than enjoy it, if the way she's whimpering is anything to go by.

"Angel," he hears a very deliberate whisper into the nape of his neck. "I love you."

"I love you."

/_Is this how it will always be?/_/ Her hot breath slides over his shoulders as she clutches at him, taking him into her grasping writhing body. /_I hope so._/

They bump and grind and moan until Buffy seizes in his arms, a look of stunned release screwing up her features. He joins her and there's another stain on the bed sheets that await the morning's revellers. Then they lie together, like they did the evening of their lost day, spent and numb and curled together in bliss. And fall asleep until the dawn is long past.

When they wake again there is muted sunlight spilling through the crack in the curtains, their legs are knitted together, and Buffy's stomach is making noises.

"Hungry?" Angel growls in a sleep-gruff voice she wishes she could hear every morning for the rest of her life.

"Bathroom," she corrects, and then freezes.

"There aren't any," he tells her, eyes still closed.

That's it – no explanation or alternative. Yesterday she went once – and she doesn't want to remember how awkward it was searching both a house and church for a bathroom that didn't exist before it felt like her bladder was going to burst and she'd slipped behind a tree. Like a little kid on a highway in the middle of nowhere who told their parents she couldn't wait any longer.

"What – people's bodies just started needing bathrooms once they invented them?"

"Chamber pot," is the two-word explanation she receives.

/_Chamber. Pot._/

"You're joking right? Tell me you're joking. Ha ha, very funny. See, I'm laughing."

"Probably under the bed."

The growling rolling over husband is much less attractive than the lovemaking one. Especially now.

"No. Absolutely not."

"Suit yourself."

"Angel!"

He's silent and as sexy as he looks /_are they hints of red? His hair has natural highlights!_/ they need to sort this out now. He needs to give her a different answer.

"There must be an outhouse or something."

"Nope."

/_Ok, now he's just doing it to piss me off._/

She puts a hand on his shoulder and wrenches him onto his back. His eyes are closed and there's a self-satisfied smile on his face.

"I need help here!"

His dark soulfuls open and instead of being filled with the penitence she's always seen tempered by his love for her, he practically leers.

/_Damn sexy man_/ she almost grumbles.

He pulls away, leans over and picks up something from the floor, then holds out a bronze-coloured urn to her. She studies it distastefully for a moment then rolls her eyes.

"I've gotta tell ya, not loving olden times. Fine, where do I – you know – go?"

He shrugs.

"My bedroom used to be fine."

/_His bedroom. Well my bedroom is now, here. With him in it._/

"Nah-uh," she denies.

/_I love you, but we're not sharing **that**. I think there was another room down the hall. Probably a workroom or something. That'll do._/

"What do I do when I'm …finished?"

"Throw it in the backyard."

She makes a squeaking sound she's not terribly proud of. But she really needs to go, so she reluctantly gets out of bed.

Now his eyes seem to work just fine. He casually folds his hands behind his head and unashamedly ogles her as her nude form slips from the bed.

"Enjoying the view?" she snaps.

"Very much."

Its cold and her nipples pucker almost the instant she's out from the cover of the blanket. The robe Angel had pulled on during the night finds its way around her shoulders and she quickly belts it closed.

When she returns she's got a tray of the food left out from last night and has left the emptied pot near the backdoor, too repulsed to even think about it.

"Let me tell you, if we don't find a way to get home, oh, I don't know, today, we are building an outhouse."

/_Crap! Don't pick up on the going home bit. Lets just live out this world for a few more hours. Even with the grossness, I want to love you a little bit longer._/

It's like he can read her, and he doesn't even mention the going home part.

"You know something about constructing outhouses do you?"

Even though they're bantering, Angel reaches out and takes the tray from her when she pulls back the covers and climbs back into bed with him. There's a familiarity, an almost surreal domestic quality to the whole situation.

"What's to know? You dig a big hole, and then build a hut over the top. Then you're ready to go. So to speak."

She takes the jug she's found and pours some pretty cloudy-looking water into two glasses.

"Is this alright to drink? It looks like reasons-people-die-in-the-third-world number one to me."

Angel frowns. Water was always that colour when he was alive. Then again, Buffy's been raised in a place where maximum filtration and cleansing ensures everything's safe to drink bar interference.

"There should be a kettle somewhere. Maybe we should wait and have tea instead."

Buffy looks towards the door. All the way across the room, with her bare feet on the cold floorboards of the bedroom and then the colder stone floor in the living room. /_Away from the toasty warmth that is Angel's body powerhousing it under this blanket._/

She turns back to the murky water.

"This will be fine."

Angel takes his glass and drinks first without reaction, so she does the same. It actually doesn't taste that bad, sort of like lake water the handful of times she's been swimming in the summer and they've wanted a change from the beach.

"So," she brightens, propping herself up next to dark and handsome who's currently setting the tray of food down between them. "We got married yesterday."

An eager mouth suddenly lands on hers, kissing her heartily. It makes her heart beat faster and her pulse races in excitement. How could she have lived so long without Angel kisses? She must have forgotten _how _good they are because there's no other explanation. He's here – right here, and nobody has ever tasted this good, bad morning breath and all. Nothing has ever been this right. He pulls back a minute later, smiling a dopey kind of smile as he tears off a piece of the hard bread and pops it into her mouth.

"By the way, did I tell you I really liked your dress?"

Buffy shoots a look at the discarded garment. The chair it's lying on is lost beneath the yards of fabric.

"Yeah yeah, big hit with everyone," she playfully contributes, and they share a private smile at the memory of a sixteen year-old all dressed up and ready to celebrate.

As his eyes drop to tear some more bread off, she can't help but be confronted by the side of his neck. Surprisingly, it looks a little better. She reaches out and brushes her fingers over it, unable to help herself.

"I was scared," she admits, not noticing how he winces as she thanks the powers he's still alive.

Still here with her so they could have what they were previously denied – their morning after.

"I'm fine," he quietly assures her, capturing her hand and bringing it to his lips.

He kisses her knuckles and then lets go, picking up an apple and beginning to slice pieces off with a small knife. Determined not to ruin what has so far been an excellent start to the day, she makes a conscious decision to be more light-hearted.

"It was totally gross. You were bleeding everywhere and your mother pulls out a – get this – _needle and thread_ – and tells me to hold you still. Ick! Then she just sews you up! Like you're a pair of pants with a tear in them or something!"

Angel seems to pause in his cutting, but by now she's rambling and can't stop herself.

"Then your little sister comes in and has to be taken away and your dad's all disapproving and when you're finally done do they let me sit with you? Nooooo. It's 'Buffy go to bed. You'll bring bad luck.' Like I'm a little kid or something. Except not Buffy – Anne. Why do they call me that? Do you think its because it's my middle name? I mean, I guess Anne is much more common in these times, whenever these times are. I'm not actually one hundred percent clear on that. Although Buffy –"

"Buffy," he cuts her off, so serious that she quiets in an instant. "What happened the other night? I don't remember anything before I woke up yesterday."

"Oh."

She pauses for a moment, taking her time to pick up one of the pieces of apple he's cut and biting at it delicately.

"Not that yesterday wasn't a great day," he hurries to reassure her. "I wasn't going to go through with it until I saw it was you under there, and you saw the ring and you reacted, so I knew it was my you, not some other you, and believe me those vows could not come out fast enough –" now he's the one who is doing all the nervous rambling. "But I'd like to know how I got there," he finishes softly.

Buffy swallows the mouthful she's chewing and then picks up another piece of apple. Angel looks down when she starts laying out the scenario.

"Angel," she tears off a piece of bread and plops it on the plate.

"Alley," her finger draws a line either side of the Angel-bread.

She tears off a second chunk of the bread and swallows before clearly saying "Darla," and plonking the second piece of bread right next to the first. She can't look at him, but sees him stiffen out of the corner of her eye none the less.

"Buffy," she say, holding up another piece of apple.

She then pushes the Darla piece of bread into the Angel piece of bread. He's tense, it's radiating off him in waves.

"Yummy man. I think I'll turn him to keep me company," she says in a totally inappropriate sing-song voice as she makes the Darla piece of bread dance around the Angel one.

Knowing she's turning something that will leave him with one hundred and fifty years worth of guilt into a pantomime. It doesn't stop her from putting down the bread and picking up the apple.

"Hands off bitch! The only one who will be tasting Angel-goodness is _me_!"

She runs the bread through with the apple, tearing it in two in the process. Then pops both the morsels into her mouth, effectively making them disappear. She should probably stop there but she's too scared to look up and face him. Then they'll both know that she's screwed up big time, and possibly trapped them here. So instead, she goes on.

"Oh handsome sir. Are you alright?" the apple swoons.

"Take me hoooome, I'm so drunk and that vampire ho made me light-headed."

There's a soft snort of disbelief as she effects a deep voice and mimics the bread talking to the apple.

"Oh of course. Lean on me. Walk walk walk. Bang bang bang. Open up in there!"

The two glasses are now brought onto the tray as well.

"Liam you're a hopeless drunkard and a man-ho. How dare you hurt poor, sweet innocent Anne – Oh! Anne! I didn't see you there," the first waterglass trembles.

"That's about right," he mutters, and she looks up to see it's worked.

He looks more pissed off than upset. And bizarrely intrigued by her small recital.

She reached for the second waterglass.

"Oh dear sweet Liam! You've been injured in a bar brawl. Patrick!" The last word is barked. "Help him in! Anne – get some bandages and my sewing kit."

"Ok ok, I get the picture," he interrupts her.

Buffy puts down the glasses and works up the nerve to look him in the eye. What she finds is more of an understanding humour than any anger. He leans forward and brushes a kiss over her still lips.

"Spielberg is quaking in his boots," he murmurs, making her smile.

"So," he picks up the Angel bread. "What happened before the alley?"

"Dunno."

She picks up the Buffy apple and makes a circular swirling motion.

"Ahhhhhhhhhhh…bump. Ow." was the accompanying dialogue to the apple falling through her fingers and onto the bedspread.

"Soooo, portal?" he guessed.

"Portal," Buffy definitively confirmed.

"Did the bread come through the portal with the apple or was the apple alone?"

"Alone. She found the bread looking to become toast in the alley way."

"So we didn't come here together, we just ended up together," he concluded.

"Hey, that's the way I like it."

Their eyes met and in the silence more words were said than the entire scenario she'd just re-enacted with breakfast foods. She was unsure, and he understood. About her feelings, the future, the past…

"I like it too."

Another kiss, this one longer and followed by more kisses. And when they eventually pulled apart, Angel's hands disentangling from her hair and stroking it back into place, she felt relieved. Like everything would turn out for the best, even though there was no way a single kiss could promise that.

"Do you remember where you were before the portal?" he wanted to know as he cut off a chunk of the juicy apple and held it to her lips.

The intimacy of the gesture was not missed, and Buffy eagerly sucked the fruit from his fingers, cleaning them off with her tongue when she was done.

"Midafternoon, on a bridge with Dawn. We'd been shopping," she remembered, her sentence trailing off.

"Dawn! What happened to her? Is she here somewhere too? Was she just left on that bridge when I disappeared? God I hope she's alright."

Her brain started coming up with all sorts of quandaries, worries for what was happening to the younger sister she'd left behind.

"I mean it's all good and well for us to be here and happy but what about her? I've left her all alone! Angel we have to get back, we have to do something! She's got no one! Dad is hopeless, I don't even know if he still lives in LA and Andrew isn't reliable and Giles can't have legal custody of her. He's in another country! And besides, he shouldn't have to support her – he has all the slayers to worry about."

"I'm sure Dawn's fine," he soothed, cupping her cheek and then running his palm down to smooth over her shoulder. "We'll do everything we can to get back," /_What was that look that just flashed through his eyes?_/ "But until then Dawn is very capable. You don't need to worry."

"How can you say that? She's all alone."

"She's made from you," came the simple answer.

Buffy stared at him thoughtfully. His emotions were always so hidden, everything buried deep inside lest he let one slip out and they all came tumbling after. Yet right now, to her, his face seemed so open. So genuine. He looked at her with such surety that she couldn't help but be caught up in it.

"Thank you."

"For what?"

"For knowing what to say."

Angel slowly smiled, brushed a kiss over her cheek, then laid out flat on his back and quietly dropped a bomb.

"I was about to die."

Buffy's eyes were wide, dark orbs. He's glad he's sitting in front of her when she hears it – because her eyes get glassy and she looks like …when she had to shove a sword into his gut.

He cups her cheeks, stroking a thumb over her trembling lips.

"Obviously I'm not dead," he clarifies.

A loud raucous starts outside and his own brow furrows.

/_What the hell is going on? It sound like a gang of drunkards which is ridiculous so early in the morning…Oh no._/

He quickly leans forward and tightens the tie on Buffy's robe, making sure it's properly closed.

"I am _so_ sorry," he hurriedly apologises, the only warning he's able to get out.

"LIAM!" A voice blares from the doorway to the house.

Buffy's still trying to get over the almost-dead shock, but he quickly spots the rowdy gang making a stumbling line for their bedroom and reaches for his discarded pants.

"Liiiiam!"

It's an obnoxious chant of his name as four of what are probably his best friends at this point barrel into the privacy of the bedroom. What is even worse is the fact that his father, two of his uncles and a few other older, respectable men from their social circle accompany them.

"Did you have a good evening?" Thomas leers as the young man to his left grabs the blanket and gives a sharp tug.

Angel gathers up Buffy whose heartbroken eyes are locked on him in agony, barely aware of the invasion. She's scooped up into his arms and he carries her trembling form across the room, presses her into a corner near the fireplace.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he murmurs, kissing her forehead and hoping she's too distracted to notice the revellers.

He keeps his back to them, uses his larger body to block her from their sight as he cups the back of her head in his hands and protectively presses her against his chest.

Angel has his eyes closed, trying to block out the sound.

/_I can't believe I've **participated** in this humiliating spectacle before. Those brides, so scared and degraded in their own bedrooms. Sobbing into their husbands because there was nowhere for them to go – those poor women._/

"Looks like 'e 'ad a _verra_ busy night!"

"I'm surprised she cen stan'!"

"Just makin' sure Mrs. O'Halloran was well-enough inducted, 'ey Liam?"

"Nice end pure. She looked it too."

"You needn't worry 'bout y'r line, with this one on it, eh Patrick?"

Without having to turn around he knows what they are doing. If their coarse language isn't enough to tell the tale then the rustling of sheets gives it away. They're studying the stained evidence of their coupling and verifying Buffy's mandatory innocence. It's mortifyingly obscene, and he wishes Buffy wasn't there to be subjected to the crass innuendo, their uncouth taunts.

"Just get out," he orders, his tone soft and low, promising serious violence.

He has to weather their inspection because custom demands it and he won't have Buffy's reputation tarnished. Who knows how long they could be stuck here, he has no desire for her to be painted with the same brush as a tavern wench. Still, he tries to tuck Buffy further under his chin and presses her into the wall so hard she makes a little squeaking noise of protest.

/_They're little better than animals. Even Angelus had more taste than this._/

"She wes chaste," the authoritative tone of his father breaks through. "T' marriage is consummated and our job es done. Lets leave 'em be."

He hates and loves his father in that moment. For breaking the bliss he'd been sharing with his new wife and leading this rabble in to them, and then again, for taking them away.

"Y'r ma would like t' see ya for dinner," he pronounces and then they begin to leave.

With lingering calls like

"Let t' boy g't some rest!"

and

"Whooya! Ride y' wef 'ard LIAM!"

a minute later they were gone.

"Ok, what the hell was that?" a muffled voice comes from his chest.

Taking a step back he lets Buffy free of his smothering hold.

"They're very religious?" he tentatively offers.

"Lets try, that was possibly the most misogynistic display I have ever seen."

She scowls at their now ramshackle bed.

"And I've been to frat parties."

With a wicked triumph she notes "Apparently they're too stupid to realise there's a huge gash on your hand."

Their intimate breakfast has been spilled over in the rabble and Angel has to locate a new sheet so they can remake the bed. There's silence and he really hopes its because she's outraged by the behaviour of his contemporaries. Unfortunately, he knows in his heart that's not it. Buffy can pretend to be superficial but she isn't. She feels things deeply.

"You were going to die and I wasn't there?" she asks softly once the covers have been pulled on taught.

He looks up to guiltily catch her gaze across the bed. The piece of furniture that hours ago bundled them together suddenly looms so large between them.

"I wanted to keep you safe."

Buffy reads more into his words than he wants her to.

"You knew it was coming," she deduces. "You're too pig-headed to admit you need help!"

"Says the woman who ignored my last call for help and let one of my best friends die because she doesn't trust me," he angrily muttered.

It slipped out before he could stop it and his eyes widened. Now wasn't the time and yet

/_Fred. Wesley. Gunn._/ They'd all fallen before him and the pain of it came rushing back. Being married to Buffy had temporarily suppressed the agony that had been tearing his heart apart. Fred especially, it had happened to her so slowly. She'd known it was happening, had suffered consciousness as her own soul was being devoured. And she'd watched the man she'd pined over for so long, lose everything he wanted as he stood by her and helplessly waited for her to die.

"What was happening to Cordy was unfortunate but it was a long time coming! You had almost a year to come to terms with that! And I was fighting the First! How is it my fault something takes over her body?"

/_Cordy?_/

"Not Cordy – FRED!" he told her in disbelief. "Sweet, innocent Fred! She and Wesley waited years, they get one night together before a god decides to do away with her and Giles doesn't want to help because he doesn't _trust _me? He let her die! And you let him! You who were lazing around Italy exploring architecture and fucking the _Immortal _let someone still fighting the good fight die for no reason!"

It was spewing out of him unchecked. The grief wasn't really aimed at Buffy but she was there and he'd had no time to even begin processing the loss he'd suffered in the past few weeks.

"I did not_ let_ him. Giles wasn't sure whether you were getting a little too close to the dark side…"

/_She knew_./ It's a horrible realisation. He's always blamed her, but in his heart seen her as innocent in the whole affair. That Giles had been working alone. That not being able to get on to Buffy when in desperation he'd tried to call her was just a terrible coincidence.

/_But she knew. She approved. Fred…This is going to be a long morning._/

They shouted, and raved. The insults grew deeper, more personal the longer it dragged on. Between them they threw every barb of accusation and destroyed hopes at each other until they were both ripped to shreds. All their other fights would have seen one of them walk away with a broken heart. Not this time – this time there was nowhere to go. They couldn't storm out, go home, leave town. His bitterest moment wouldn't let him leave Buffy socially unprotected, which is what an abandoned wife would be.

She was working blind in a society she'd barely gotten a glimpse of and didn't much fancy leaving a newly human Angel unprotected in a town where his path had already seen him turned into a demon once before.

By lunchtime he was angrily staring into the main fireplace, waiting for the small kettle to boil, and Buffy was closed up in the bedroom. Mid afternoon they'd swapped and she was unnecessarily stoking the fire.

By four p.m. they were both sitting in silence on the back doorstep. Side by side staring beyond the grassed-over vegetable patch out into the luscious fields where animals silently grazed as far as the eye could see.

"We should get dressed and go to dinner," he told her, subdued now that too much had been said.

A small grunt of recognition came from beside him, nothing more. Two minutes passed before she stood and disappeared back inside.

He wanted to say something, anything. He'd spent enough of his existence not talking to Buffy. Nothing came to mind though, after today he was talked out. The sound of her bare feet padding across the floor sounded and she stopped behind him. Still wrapped in the masculine robe of this morning she looked somewhat reluctant.

"I need your help to get into a dress," she admits.

He stands and follows her into the third room he hasn't yet seen. It's a spare bedroom, with a wardrobe and chests of drawers either side of a double bed. The wardrobe is thrown open and there is a selection of dresses neatly hanging. Most of them look brand new.

/_Wedding presents maybe?_/

She pulls one out and tosses it on the bed. Pink. She looks beautiful in pink. Then she starts digging in the drawers and pulls out what she thinks she needs. Angel can't help smiling tenderly – it's not even close. Too many tops and not enough skirts. He comes up behind her and gently stays her hand, instead replacing some of what she's pulled out and helping her choose some other garments. He didn't spend three lifetimes with Darla and not learn some useful things.

"Buffy –"

A weary sigh cuts him off.

"Angel, just help me into my dress."

Then her hand falls to the tie and she pauses, looking up at him. It's glorious. That coy, unsure look that can't quite hide how much she loves him, even though it's clear she wants to.

He doesn't let himself think about it, tentatively reaching out to cover her fingers. His mind blanks as they make contact. Skin-on-skin, hot and alive.

/_Buffy._/

A breath passes, then another, and Buffy is reaching up on her toes, her lips ducking and weaving as their hot mouths meet. Bewitching kisses that tantalise him as he drinks all her honeyed sweetness in repentance.

"I'm so sorry," he whispers.

Nubile hands slip around the nape of his neck, drawing him closer and fulfilling the promise of a loving partner – something he's been denied for so very long. When his hands slowly find the middle of her back she arches up into him with a hungry whimper that makes his heartbeat jump. The bed touches the back of his knees and he doesn't have to think twice. He sinks back into the plush coverings, bringing Buffy down on top of him, her breathtaking lips seeming to suck the life out of him.

"Buffy I didn't mean to take it out on you."

"Shhhhh."

He's stopped from saying anything further by a single finger. Meanwhile a smooth warm hand tickles between his pants and shirt until he feels her palm press longingly against his firm belly.

"Buffy."

The look he gets dares him to say any more words and defy her. He's reassured by her coquettishness, it promises much more delight in the near future than the pain of arguing with Buffy and the agony of visiting the grief in his recent past. They're volatile and passionate people but things are much easier to work out when they aren't a pair of raging mad lovers, storming away in a huff.

Although that's also true when she's silently lifting his shirt over his head. Her darkening eyes drop to his bared chest and he welcomes the look of heat she can't hide. Seduced into the moment he lifts his arms and lets her discard it, his gaze devouring her look of concentration.

"Buffy."

This time it's a breathy groan of appreciation as she slowly bends down and places her hot mouth in the hollow of his throat. Her keen lips place one, then two, then three devilish kisses across his pectorals while her blonde hair tumbles down around her. Angel responds to her touch, swelling beneath her as she traces the pads of her fingers down his sides. His breathing becomes uneven, uncontrolled with her teasing touches.

When her busy hands slip down lower, rasping at the drawstring of his pants, their arms tangle. He starts reaching for the tie of the robe she has wrapped so tightly around her, eager to feel hot, sweet Buffy skin beneath his mouth and fingers again.

He has it open and runs his palms over her shoulders and down her arms, sweeping the garment off of her until she's nude. All her beautiful golden skin slowly coming on display makes him ravenous. A quick glance up reveals her biting her lip, her hair falling to one side and her neck bared like she's waiting for him to take possession.

The sound of her sucking in a quick breath is like a delicate bird trilling its happiness in the forest – very soft and very subtle but music to his ears. It comes when he lets his mouth feast on the banquet laid out before him – pink nipples tipping firm sun-brushed flesh like ripe strawberries on fresh golden pancakes. For Angel – breakfast is served; along with lunch, dinner, and every snack in between.

She slides her fingers into his hair, holding him close as he tastes her. Her breathing gets more erratic and the sound of it shoots straight to his cock, the hardness rubbing at her through the coarseness of his pants.

"Buffy."

It's a compulsion – he can't stop saying her name and he's not sure if it's to remind himself she's really here or call her attention. He moves back and forth between the taught nipples that top off her pert breasts, tasting them, teasing them. It makes her silently undulate in his lap, until he moans deep in his chest in response to the feeling of those powerful thighs sliding around his waist. She moves closer and closer until he feels the moistness of her heat pressed tight against his belly.

The warning that her core is ready for more makes him supersensitive to the restraint his appendage is under. The fabric between them is too rough – painful. As though she can read his mind, Buffy's exquisite little hand slips down and without removing the garment, gets it far enough down beneath his buttocks that his thick length springs free.

"OH Angel."

Her powerful hands shove him hard into the mattress and like a mythical creature she rises above him. Bracing herself against his powerful hips and then teasing her own fiery body. Rubbing the pulsing mushroom tip of his throbbingly hard sex against her bare slit, back and forth.

It takes everything he has to restrain himself, to keep from thrusting up hard into the little tease. Instead he covers her slim thighs in his hands, brushes his palms up and down the insides and coaxes her further open.

"Beautiful," she whispers, finally lifting her hips a little and lowering herself onto his private beast.

The athletic form of his mate arcs into his hands as they eagerly slide up her bare back. She sinks into his embrace, looking for more than sex and physical connection as her forehead rests in the crook of his throat.

"Love you," Buffy's tiny voice mewls, and as if it's a risk to say it, keeps the pitch very very soft.

He slides a hand up to tangle in her hair, lovingly pressing his lips to her ear while he holds her against him. His broad muscular shoulders flex and he braces himself, rolling his hips up into her.

"I love you too," he assures her in a deep, comforting murmur.

She mewls and whimpers and he hugs her close, kissing her earlobe, her temple, her cheeks, as he repeats himself over and over again. Even though she's positioned to ride him, it's Angel who has control, prying her open and forcing his way into her as she tries to beg for his touch.

"I'm here."

"I love you."

"You can do it, come for me,"

he reassures her until the pliant, trembling body in his arms clenches around him, tears of fulfilment being sobbed onto his shoulder as she finally reaches a climax. He finds his own orgasm, a torrent of bliss in her clenching opening that floods her heat with his.

Their arguments from before aren't solved, for now they're simply pushed aside. The sting of the accusations have been dulled by the reassurance that pain in the past cannot override the emotions that are the most important – those in the here and now.

By the time they dress and leave for dinner, they're already running late.


End file.
